Three Sides of Fate
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Sequel to Ten Houses of Deceit. One man's downfall spirals the city of Gotham into chaos and anarchy. It falls to the Dark Knight to keep his city from tearing itself in two, but this fight may already be lost before it begins.
1. Harvey Dent, We Can't Trust Him

Author's Note: Guess what, we're back with the next installment. After that little cliff hanger in that last one, I bet you guys were eager for this one. There is a lot planned for this one. I'm a little surprised how quickly we were able to produce it. Anybody who is joining us, you guys better take a look at the predecessor, _Ten Houses of Deceit_ , if you find yourselves lost with some of the exposition in this chapter. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Warning: language, violence, death

Harvey Dent, We Can't Trust Him

Damn Hugo Strange. Damn him to whatever hellhole he crawled out of and let him burn.

Bruce sat in front of the large supercomputer, his face in a perpetual scowl. It had been ten months since the Man-Bat Attacks, the plot concocted by the deranged psychiatrist, and still the fallout had yet to be fully cleansed.

People were scared, a normal reaction to having giant bats descend upon them. Unfortunately, that had led to many people being more scared of Batman than they already were. It used to be the civilians were grateful of his presence, at least once the adrenaline from being attacked wore off. Now though, the young man had lost count how many people begged and pleaded with him not to suck their blood or kill them.

Even worse was the effect it was having on Cassandra. Though she had difficulty understanding the spoken word, she could read body language like it was her native tongue. When she first started, she could see the appreciation for her assistance; now, the hostility and fear was confusing her. She was keeping her distance more often than not. Fortunately that hadn't bled into their partnership, but he could tell she was having trouble understanding it.

However, the blowback wasn't just contained to their nightly patrols. An unexpected consequence revolved around what was left of the mob families—mainly the sole remaining one. Rupert Thorne was out, gone, vanished. Word on the street was the man had fled Gotham following a vicious attack by a Man-Bat. Another rumor suggested he was dead, his body buried along with the likes of Jimmy Hoffa. Though he had investigated these reports, all Bruce had been able to confirm was that Thorne was no longer running his own organization. There was no evidence to suggest he was dead or alive, only that one moment he was here, the next he was gone.

Bruce highly suspected Thorne was dead, however. His biggest reason for believing so focused on the new head of Thorne's crime family. There was no secret that the new boss and Thorne had no lost love between them. In fact, the darkly-armored man knew that the new boss had it out for Thorne for quite some time.

Which brought him to Harvey Dent.

On the giant screen before him, Bruce stared at an image of Dent. Gone was the sophisticated District Attorney; in his stead was a man that looked half like him. The other half was scarred beyond recognition.

As if to add to the new dichotomy, Dent's wardrobe reflected his new face. One side of his suit was white, the other black. Each side met at the middle, ending where the other began. Even his tie was half white, half black, though each color was on the opposite side of its match.

The picture itself had been taken at Gotham's Second National Bank. It was the second appearance of Harvey following his disappearance after the Man-Bat Attacks, though it was the first photographic evidence of him. Harvey had stormed onto the scene in a hail of bullets two weeks after the GCPD had launched a manhunt to find him. The current picture marked the second month of his sudden turn to crime.

Incidentally enough, the Second National Bank had strong ties to the Mob, making it a Mob Bank. More importantly, its biggest customer had been Thorne. When Harvey and his gang blew in, they slaughtered most of the workforce, though the customers had been allowed to leave untouched.

Which was a puzzle in and of itself. In the last ten months, Harvey had attacked many of Thorne's old fronts. Word on the street was that not everyone in the Thorne crime family had accepted their new leader. Harvey's heavy-handed tactics to put down such rebellion was not unexpected.

What was was how he determined who he was to kill and who he wasn't. Unlike the Second National Bank, there was a clinic in Gotham's East Side that he hit, and all of the patients there had been slaughtered. A seemingly random number of the staff survived, surprisingly more than the Bank hit. In fact, it was at random who Harvey killed and how many. Bruce had yet to figure out the how and why of this man's reasoning.

However, if Harvey's rampage was confusing, the disappearance of Mort Weinstein wasn't. The two had been running for the DA's office in the current election. Weinstein had gone missing shortly after Harvey burst onto the scene with his new look and hadn't been found for three days. On the fourth, his body had been found hanging from the front of the DA's office, a blindfold over his eyes, and a scale and toy sword nailed into his hands.

After that, Gordon put a security detail on the remaining DA nominees. Considering the wreckage left in Dent's wake, all of the officers were packing serious heat with shoot-on-sight authority. Even the mayor had beefed up the number of security guards at City Hall.

In short, tension was high with no chance of it lessening in sight.

At last, Bruce hit a button on the keyboard and the picture of Harvey Dent disappeared, leaving the computer screen blank. That was enough musing into the very depressing past.

Not all of which was bad. The Batclan and Birds of Prey were still active, or so he had been told by Huntress. The purple-clad vigilante had been doing some work with her old teammates in the last few months, a mending of their relationship. She still frequented his patrols, but she wasn't there every night like she used to be.

And according to her, they had been receiving some pretty good intel from the mysterious Oracle. That was the new name of the intelligence broker that was assisting the vigilante groups, the one that had called themselves O. The Batclan was primarily benefiting from the Oracle, with some assistance lent to the Birds of Prey. Bruce had half a mind to use this Oracle if only to see how good the intel was in person. Huntress claimed it was pretty good.

This only raised the dark-haired man's suspicions. Until he knew for certain what this Oracle person was doing, he wasn't willing to let them scurry about Gotham, not like he had allowed the Batclan and Birds following his return to Gotham. If someone was out there running around on rooftops and spying, the trouble they were going to bring down would be massive.

On the other hand, that was assuming they were out there. If Bruce recalled correctly, O had hacked into the traffic control mainframe along with other security systems throughout Gotham. If this person was a hacker, they had some serious skill, not to mention some very good equipment.

This only put Bruce on guard. With someone who had the means to hack into anywhere and anything, it was only a matter of time before they started looking for sensitive material. For the vigilantes, that meant their secret identities. While he knew who everyone was, he wasn't about to broadcast that information; there was no telling with Oracle, however. For the sake of everyone involved, that concern needed to be answered.

And answered soon.

* * *

It had become more of a ritual that the Batclan met up before going out on patrol. At least, the two of them that could still use their legs did that. The place they met up at was a bit of an oddity, an apartment complex with a clock tower attached to it. It was the place that Barbara had moved into ten months ago and had made not only her home in, but her base of operations as well.

Nightwing couldn't have been more proud of her. Ten months ago, she was a depressed shell of herself. Now, after pulling herself out of that funk, the paralyzed daughter of the commissioner had become something new. In her own words, she had become Oracle.

Whereas Barbara Gordon was a twenty-year old woman working towards a degree in criminal justice, stuck in a wheelchair because of sucky chance, Oracle was a practically faceless entity with digital access to every security system and electronic device in the city. If something was connected to the internet, it was not safe from this desktop vigilante. If it was a program in a hard drive, it could and would be hacked into.

It was a good thing she was on their side. One wrong thing and she could have been a modern day supervillain. Commissioner Gordon had raised her right.

The rise of Oracle could not have come at a better time. As the city recovered from the flock or swarm or whatever it was called of Man-bats, the crime rate had begun to skyrocket. There was a huge shift in organized crime, gangland murders were now at an all-time high, and people were panicking.

If the Batclan was going to survive in this new climate, they needed someone like Oracle to get the intel they needed so that when they struck, it wasn't some empty gesture. It would have some damage and it would be felt.

So what was their target for tonight? The young man was pumped for it, even as he waited for the wheelchair-bound woman to show up. He didn't wait alone in the living room, curtains drawn on all the windows for privacy. His younger partner, Robin, was waiting with him too, as eager to get out on the streets with him.

Robin had had it tough a few months ago. A family member murdered in the streets of their city, combined with the typical emotional stability of your average teenager, and it had almost torn what had been left of their tattered group apart. Thanks to the last ten months, the masked teen was more dedicated to their crusade than ever before. Not for the first time did the older vigilante wonder if it wasn't the identity of the person responsible that was motivating the younger vigilante.

See, when Tim was still reeling from his aunt's death, he and his folks had had a meeting with none other than Harvey Dent. The same Harvey Dent that was going to be prosecuting the murderer of Tim's aunt. The same Harvey Dent who was now Gotham's number one most wanted. The same Harvey Dent who was responsible for the crime wave mentioned earlier.

It didn't make any sense. Really. Nightwing was still trying to figure out what was going on. And Tim, he seemed more determined for some reason. What could it be? Well, so long as it kept Robin sharp it couldn't be all bad, right?

Right now, from where the teen was sitting, it looked like he was drawing something. Nightwing couldn't really get a good look at what it was, but since they were waiting for Barbara to show up, it couldn't hurt to ask, right?

"What'cha up to?" he asked.

It took a second before Robin answered him. "Just a little project. I've been thinking about making a couple changes to my outfit lately."

Thanks to his mask, you couldn't tell that the older vigilante was raising an eyebrow. "You're thinking about making changes? You think you should do that?"

"I've been feeling like I've been in a rut. I've asked Barb to look into some things to help out with it," Robin continued as he turned the piece of paper he was drawing on and made some back and forth motions with the pencil he was holding.

"You think the guy who made us these things would let you make changes to them?" he questioned.

"It couldn't hurt to ask, right?" Robin replied, not once looking up at him.

Okay, now he was interested in what the costumed teen wanted to do. "So what are these changes?"

"I was thinking like some kind of retractable wings. Something that was part of the costume, makes it look cool, but I could also use it in a fight if I had to," the teen answered, his longue starting to poke out of through his lips. "Check out what I'm thinking," he said a moment later, pulling back and turning over his drawing.

Nightwing moved in closer and looked at it. Apparently, Tim was a better drawer than he had given him credit for. Probably an even better designer. This cape looked like it was made up multiple strips of fabric even though it was one piece. From the drawn model Robin had been using, he could see it being used as a glider on one, and on another two spike-like weapons.

"I'm having Barbara see if she can't find anything that's thin and bulletproof. Something that, I don't know, you could run a current through? Make it hard whenever you want." Robin relaxed back in his seat and gave him a look that belonged to a person who felt like they had accomplished something. "So what do you think?"

Before he could give an answer, their hostess finally made her entrance. "Evening boys. I hope you guys are well rested," the young woman called out as she wheeled herself in.

"Yo," Robin said in reply, holding up a hand in welcome.

"Looks like tonight might be a bit busy for you two. There's some movement in North Gotham. One of the street gangs is becoming really active. They call themselves the Skullz and they've been really taking advantage of, you know, everything going to shit. Why don't you guys go up there and see what you can do. Any intel you can get on them would be very welcome," Barbara explained.

"You'll stay in touch, right? Let us know if something is going down while we're behind enemy lines?" Nightwing asked, raising a hand up to touch the earpiece he was wearing.

"Naturally. I can't let anything happen to my two favorite guys and errand boys," Barbara chuckled.

"Oh, thanks a lot. Now we know where we are in your life," Robin retorted, giving a wry smile.

"Well, it would be tough to find someone else to fill your shoes in," Barbara remarked, looking up thoughtfully. "You think the Birds would like to go full time with me? If anything happens, not that it will."

"Well, if you lose us, that'll ruin your track record," Nightwing quipped. Handing back Robin's drawing to its owner, he continued, "We'll head out now, do a little scouting. And, if we can, might see if we can't find these Skulls' leader."

"Hmm. That sounded like an 's' there. It's Skullz with a 'z' at the end," the paralyzed woman corrected him.

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes at the grammar nazi. "I'll call them what I want. They're the ones butchering the English language. Get on their asses." He headed towards the window, raising it up while pulling out a grapple.

"That's why I'm sending you two," Barbara called out behind them.

* * *

He should have known by now that when things were going good, something bad was on the horizon, quickly moving in to wreck everything. That fact had been proven true over the past ten months and once again the commissioner had to deal with the fallout.

This time, even Gordon was surprised from where this latest step back had come from. As the days turned into a week, then two, his worry for Harvey Dent had grown into full alarm. There had been no contact as the city recovered from its latest crisis. Then all-out war erupted as Rupert Thorne's crime family imploded on itself.

Not that Gordon was a poetic person, but it could be said that from Thorne's ashes rose Harvey Dent, or as he had become known as Two-face, and he had seized control of Gotham's underworld. And his former ally had gone about cementing that fact with a wave of violence that hadn't been seen in years.

It could be said that this was another of Gotham's crises, but this one had been drawn out so much longer. The weeks had turned into months and here they were nearly a year later, no resolution in sight.

It didn't make any damn sense. What had gotten into that man's mind? Why was he throwing away everything? Everything that they had worked for, held dear to them, then switched sides in an instant and destroyed it all? Nobody has seen this coming and maybe that was why their response had been delayed.

That's right, delayed. During that first month, Gordon had been trying to wrap his mind about this new situation. Everything had been reactionary, the police always arriving too late to handle the next shootout or the following bombing. Robberies, hits, arson, collateral damage, you name it, they had it.

By the second month, the commissioner had gotten his act together. If Harvey was so deadset in his new profession, then it was Gordon's responsibility to bring him in. Naturally that was easier said than done.

"What's the latest?" he asked without looking up, reading over one of countless files that centered over the rise of Two-face. Anytime someone entered his office, it was about an update to some matter that involved Two-face's organization. Almost everything else had to be dropped in the process to handle it.

"So far, it's been quiet," the voice of his wife answered him, speaking in professional tones. "You know what that means. We're about to have something go off, probably involving a lot of bullets and maybe an explosion. No idea if there will be bodies."

That was another thing. There were times when there would be no body count, but others were a flat-out massacre. It made absolutely no sense, especially since some of those who lived were some nasty piece of works themselves. There was no rhyme or reason to it.

"So it's wait, see, then react?" he questioned, looking up at the younger woman. "There's no way we can keep doing this."

"It's not as easy as kicking doors in and arresting people. Grange hasn't declared martial law yet so we still need warrants," Sarah answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Plus, Two-face has been going all out in hiding all centers of his criminal enterprise. That shouldn't be too surprising since he used to work with law enforcement and he knows what we look for. Someone who knows us as well as we do is now against us and using our knowledge."

"I trusted that man," Gordon groaned, slumping back in his seat, his chair creaking. He was going to need to get a new one soon. From the sound of it, this piece of furniture was about to reach its last legs. "And now he's using our procedures against us. He's making a mockery of law enforcement in ways not even our vigilantes have. The only time we have a clue as to what he's up to is after the fact." He heaved a sigh, looking up at the ceiling fan whose blades slowly turned. "Have we heard anything from our undercovers? Anything at all?"

"None can even get in. He knows how we get our men in," Sarah said, taking a seat. She had not brought any coffee with her, so her hands were gripping the chair's arms. "Thanks to his experience as a prosecutor, he's using the law itself as a shield. This is a worst case scenario, and from the looks of it, it may be one we can't win."

Gordon was surprised when a growl slipped out of him. However, that was a good indicator of how he felt. Frustrated. Angry. Betrayed. "So does that mean we give up? No, we can't give up. Even if this whole city goes to hell, we can't give up."

"Do you have any plans, Jim?" Sarah asked. "Anything you haven't told me about? Anything from the Batman?"

That was another thing. It seemed like even his most reliable ally was having problems with this one. More often than not, when Two-face pulled a job, it was over before even the vigilante could get there. The last time the commissioner had spoken with the Dark Knight, even he could see the frustration the masked man was experiencing. And he wasn't trying to hide it either.

Which was not good.

"He's like us. Stuck, reacting instead of taking the fight to him. We can't even figure out where Harvey has set up base and is operating from. Thorne Enterprises was the first on that list, but it was raided, looted, and filled with dead bodies when we showed up."

Gordon really wanted to punch something or someone right now, but Sarah was in the room and he wasn't about to hit her.

"So what do we know other than we're losing and losing badly?" Sarah pressed.

Gordon grimaced. Then he gestured to the file he had been reading over when the lieutenant had entered. "According to that, there's some resistance building in the criminal world. Not everyone wants to follow Two-face and if this keeps up, this will become a war. A war between two factions and if the damage we've seen so far has been from one of them, what two will do…"

"It's a catastrophe waiting to happen," Sarah summed up.

"We need to be doing better," he stated, looking his wife dead in the eye. "We need to start turning this around. Right now, there's only one thing I can think of that we can do. We need to start centralizing our efforts. We need to funnel all incoming information and process it more effectively. I believe what we need right now is a task force dedicated to the sole purpose of apprehending Harvey Two-face Dent and ending this before more people get hurt."

"You think a task force is what we need?" Sarah asked, not with doubt but with curiosity.

"The last time I formed a task force, we got a serial killer. One whose rotting in Blackgate," Gordon told her. "It did its job, and it did it well. I think this will go a long way to reassuring the citizens of Gotham that we're doing everything we can. Sure I'll get some flak for not doing it sooner, but I'll take that over what we have now."

"Alright, so who's leading it?"

"It needs to be someone who is objective about this. Someone who kept their heads when the news broke that our former DA was responsible for this. Someone I can rely on to do their job efficiently and without conflict," Gordon said aloud, listing out his criteria. "I have only one person on my short list of candidates."

"And who would that be?" Sarah asked wryly, one side of her mouth curling upwards.

"You. Who else?" he replied, giving her a fond smile.

All the things he had listed had been actions that Lieutenant Sarah Essen Gordon had taken when everything had blown up. While he had been busy being shellshocked, she had been organizing the men, emergency services, everything. Then when he had gotten his head out of his ass and taken back his responsibilities, she had done nothing but put pressure on everyone to do everything they could.

"Me?"

"Right now, everyone is listening to you. They won't think twice if you tell them to do something, anything. The officers have more trust in you right now than they do me," he explained. "Right now, they need someone who will take charge and guide them through this. You happen to be in the position."

"I also happen to be your wife. People might think you'll be controlling this task force through me," Sarah pointed out.

"Which is why I'm going to run it past Grange and get her consent," the commissioner replied. "Sarah, you're the only person who can lead this task force and make sure that it doesn't go off the rails. You're the only person I trust with it."

"What about Bullock? Montoya?"

"Bullock is not suited for this. It was one thing when it was a serial killer, a murderer hiding in public. That was more hunting and tracking. This, this is going after a different animal altogether and he won't have the temperament to handle the kind of setbacks that will happen. Montoya, while she has been doing impressive work, she doesn't have the kind of experience needed to lead a task force. Not yet, at any rate. If you want, you can have her apart of it, I won't deny you that. Maybe you can teach her a few things.

"None of this changes the fact that you're the best qualified for the demands of this position. You're going to be going after Gotham's newest crime lord, one who's been real good at evading justice. You're going to be charged with dismantling and capturing him, regardless of past dealings he had with the department. Are you up for this?"

Sarah looked down, her bottom lip tucking into her mouth. She was chewing on it, most likely. Not a good habit for her.

Looking back up at him, she nodded. "I am. However, I would feel better if we had someone else backing up my appointment. To head off any problems before they begin distracting us."

Gordon nodded, understanding the logic. The more people he had back her up, the less resistance she would have to face. But who else could he go to? He had already mentioned Mayor Grange, so what other figure that was involved in law enforcement could he approach. Normally, it would be the DA's office...

"How about whoever's acting as DA now. They had to suspend the election until further notice after we found Weinstein and Harkness dropped out soon after," he said. "The name's on the tip of my tongue…"

"Spencer. Kate Spencer. She was one of the assistant DAs before she was tapped," Sarah informed him, smirking. "You can try to see if she's onboard. If so, I'll formally accept the position and form this task force.

He nodded in acceptance. "You have a deal."

* * *

It was strange. The Birds of Prey had always been a trio in some form or fashion. Tonight, however, they were a duo.

Because of a meeting with the police commissioner, Kate Spencer was hitting the streets tonight. Likewise for Helena; she was at a school performance watching six, seven, eight, and nine year olds singing songs about farm animals badly—her words.

That left Black Canary and Katana to prowl the streets.

Or in this case, leave an unconscious body next to it.

With a dull thud, the large man collapse into a heap on the ground. Black Canary looked down on the guy with a bored expression on her face. She had known he wasn't going to be much of a challenge and she had effectively taken the guy out in two hits. The first had been to disarm him; a glance to her left showed a revolver lying discarded on the dirty ground. The second had plunged him into unconsciousness and that had been that.

Looking away, she caught sight of what she assumed was a businessman. He was dressed in a now-rumpled suit and tightly clutching a briefcase. He was currently cowering next to an overturned trashcan, hoping he'd go unnoticed.

Which was fine. Canary had no issue with the guy wanting to slink away considering he wasn't even a threat. Walking, she passed by him without another look, heading down the alleyway.

Reaching a corner, she ran into Katana, who was leaning her back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. "Done?" she asked bluntly.

"Done," the blonde replied with a nod.

Katana then looked to her. "Good. I found something you'll want to look at."

In the years that the two had known each other, Black Canary had to admit her colleague's English had gotten much better. Her Broken English of the early days was nearly gone, the Asian able to speak in clear sentences.

Following her partner, the two vigilantes were soon in a wide open area, bordered by buildings on all sides, the only way to get to this place being the alleyway. The first thing the blonde woman took note of was a white van parked in the corner of this makeshift lot. The next was a dumpster, graffiti scrawled over its green sides. There wasn't much else here, though Canary was sure to keep an eye on the door to one of the buildings. It was the only clear entrance she could see.

It was to the van that Katana led her. "I found this while you were playing," she explained. While Black Canary had taken on the duty of confronting the thug, Katana had gone to the other end of the alley to make sure if the guy bolted, he wouldn't get far.

"Any idea of what's in the van?" the blonde vigilante asked.

It was then she noticed her friend had her hand resting on the hilt of her sheathed sword. While this wasn't unusual in the slightest, the fact that the hand in question was her sword-wielding one that got her attention. Katana only did that when a fight was imminent.

"I'm not sure," the Asian woman admitted. "I heard strange sounds coming from within. That's when I came to get you."

For backup—smart. Black Canary slid her legs apart, shifting into a defensive posture. "I'm ready when you are," she told her comrade.

With a sharp nod, Katana then moved to one side of the van, grabbing onto the door handle as she did so. With her other hand, she drew out her sword and held it at the ready. Taking a moment, it seemed as if Katana were composing herself before she pulled on the door handle and swung the door open.

Immediately, the surprised shrieks of animals filled the night's air. The smell of wet fur and waste products assaulted Black Canary's nose. The first thing she noticed was the cages that lined the sides of van. There were animals in most of the ages, each one moving—

That was when a cold feeling settled into the vigilante's stomach. Paling as her eyes widen, Black Canary couldn't help but stare in horror as she noticed the bat-like features these creatures had. They were more monster than anything.

Man-Bats...these were Man-Bats, yet not. Faintly, Black Canary heard Katana say something in Japanese, most likely some sort of swear, not that she blamed her.

The biggest difference was the obvious one. None of these creatures were the size of the Man-Bats they had fought a mere ten months earlier. They were smaller, small enough to fit in the cages that held them. The next was that they seemed to be slumped onto all fours; whether that was because of the cramped quarters they were forced into, or that was just what they preferred, she didn't know. She did know though, that these things were a lot more afraid of her considering they were backing away in their cages, their clawed hands grabbing onto the bars of their cells.

Even more importantly, their very presence was evidence that someone was messing around with the Man-Bat serum. What else could it be? Arms falling to her sides, her hands tightened into fists.

It seemed there was still more Man-Bat guano to clean up.


	2. These are your Choices

Author's Note: Yesterday marked the tenth year I have been posting stories on this site. That's right, since 7/6/07, I have been posting various stories in various fandoms almost nonstop for ten whole years. And I foresee no end in sight to the posting. Not with the plans ShadowMajin and I have made for this series thus far. Enjoy.

These are your Choices

Things had changed for the man once known as Harvey Dent.

No longer was he Gotham's District Attorney, fighting crime through the justice system and sending away the scum of the earth to life behind bars. Now he was Two-face, the usurper of a crime family who was intent on transforming it into a syndicate, bringing in the scum of the earth to serve as his muscle and hired help.

To show how far his transformation was, he had dressed himself in two-colored suits, preferring a solid white color on his right side, and a solid black on his left. It matched up with his face now, the right side pristine and handsome, the image of Harvey Dent, district attorney of Gotham. The left side was scarred, acid burning away and corroding the skin into a dark brownish-purple, pulled back on the lips of his mouth so that his teeth could be visible to all, and decimating the eyelids of his left eye so that it was perpetually open. Much of the hair on the left side of his head had been eaten away at the follicle, and what was left was poorly kept, strings of it laying lifelessly against his scalp.

Despite how chaotic the past few months had been, there had been a strategy involved. It was simple: take everything that had once belonged to his predecessor, assert his dominance over those that were already a part of it, and rid himself of anyone who opposed him. After that, establish his control over the city and bring everyone else under his heel. He'd known from the beginning that it wasn't going to be easy.

That meant he would need to be smarter. A better tactician. Outthink his rivals and cut them down mercilessly. Or mercifully give them the option to reconsider and join him, bringing along their collective knowledge and experience to make a stronger organization. It was so hard to choose which to do at times.

Lucky for him, he had a coin to solve that.

It was perfect. A fifty-fifty decision maker, one that would finalize what his next move would be without exception. Unbiased chance, impossible to rig. Because that's what everything amounted to, a difference between two extremes.

Strong or weak.

Innocent or guilty.

Merciful or ruthless

Life or death.

A single flip of the coin was all of them, judge, jury, executioner rolled up into a two-sided coin. Heads or tails. Good heads or bad heads.

He was flipping that coin, his thumb launching it into the air, his hand waiting and catching it, then repeating the process all over again without even looking at it. It was mindless and soothing at the same time. The couch he reclined on was a mere afterthought, a detail that was best ignored.

What wasn't to be ignored was a status update of what the streets were like. That was information coming out from his right hand man, Min Donovan. Min was a short, thin, freckled man with light red hair, and dressed in a dress shirt, sports jacket, and bowtie ensemble. He also had a bit of an overbite, which gave the impression he had buckteeth. He was a bit of a brown noser, always eager to try and impress.

"—we managed to send those sucker running with their tails between their legs. Now all of Bowing Street is under our protection. We'll be getting the payments later this week," Min finished up his tale of action and adventure, trying to paint a picture where he and his boys were spreading the rule of Two-face to all corners of the city. In the end, it was just another protection racket seized and owned. Another stream of revenue, was all.

Still, he flipped for it. Good heads, he'd suspended all protection payments indefinitely. No sense making those poor people pay for something that truly didn't need. Bad heads, keep the protection payments going, double it for those who resisted.

And it was bad heads.

"Start collecting tomorrow," the disfigured crime lord ordered. His was deeper than it used to be in his days as the district attorney, with an almost gravelly quality to it. "Anyone who resists, give'em a reason why they need protection and double the cost."

"Right, Two-face!" Min nodded eagerly.

Now on to his left-hand man, Max Donovan. Max was a carbon copy of Min, from the light red hair, the freckles, even the same damn overbite. He even dressed identically to Min.

Of course, Min and Max were identical twins. Two petty thieves that Harvey Dent had prosecuted years ago and then conscripted into his growing criminal empire. They were two-bit losers, and they still were. However, they were loyal, did what they were told, and had yet to cross him, or anger him to the point where a coin toss was needed.

Seeing that he was looking at him, Max began speaking quickly. "We got a good idea on where one of the last holdouts are. The big one is over on Congress Avenue. A bookie joint. The last gambling den that's on our turf. All of them are Thorne's old guard and none of them are willing to join up. You want to go show them who's boss? Or should we?"

Instead of answering right away, Two-face shot a look over to a scrawny-looking man in a business suit. To his credit, the guy didn't flinch away.

"You know anything about a place on Congress? Anything worth paying a visit for?" he asked, his eyes boring into the man.

The man in question, one Michael Doubleday retained his composure. "It sounds like the Duece's Den. Just a gambling den, nothing more. The best it ever did was what Mr. Thorne called 'chump change'."

"But to a bunch of desperate rats, chump change is looking pretty attractive," Two-face replied. He held his coin between two fingers and his thumb, rubbing the pads of his fingertips against the smooth side of good heads. "And rats will scrape by with anything they can get their hands on."

"So what do you want to do, boss?" Min asked, practically brimming with energy where he stood.

"Anything you're not telling me?" the two-faced man pressed, ignoring the twin.

"Like the rest, it has a back entrance," Michael shrugged his shoulders. "It's pretty much like all the other places you've raided. Mr. Thorne wanted to keep them uniformed so that if he moved his men around, they wouldn't have to get used to a new setup. Since this is now a larger operation, what changes have been made to Duece's is unknown to me at the moment."

Two-face looked away from Thorne's over-glorified secretary and moved his sights onto the men he had available. Unlike the twins and Doubleday, these men were larger, much much larger. Mountains of muscle under tight clothing that either came in solid black or solid white. They lounged here and there, not really paying attention to the four of them. On the streets, these guys were known as the Two Ton Gang. They were also the first of many groups he had recruited to form this organization.

As shock troops, they were invaluable. Tough, able to take a hit and get right back up, and intimidating when entering a room. Their gunplay could use some work. They liked using their fists too much so aiming a gun was not on their list of priorities. Machine guns? Fine. You didn't really need to aim those.

"Tell the boys to pack some heat," he told the twins, turning to face them. "We got a job tonight. Don't let anybody out without my say so." Pausing as a thought occurred to him, he flipped his coin and observed the result. "Bring some gasoline too. No matter what, we're torching the place."

As he stood up, Min had the gall to ask, "You're coming with us?"

Leveling a look at the punk, Two-face stated, "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, don't you?"

* * *

With a hand pressed against the comm link in her ear, Black Canary said, "Hey, Oracle, can you run a trace on a license plate for me?"

There was a moment before the distinctly computer-generated voice answered her. It had a more feminine tone than the last voice distortion program, so someone had been updating their tech lately. Ever since the events of a few months ago, this mysterious Oracle had been more than willing to lend just about anyone assistance, using her impressive hacking skills to do so. The Batclan had been her main customers from what she could tell, something that was quite telling as to who the Oracle's identity was. That wasn't any of her business though, so she was content with using the offered service as needed.

" _I can do that,"_ came Oracle's reply _. "What's the plate numbers?"_

Looking at the back of the van, the blonde began rattling off the numbers. "CS5 N2Y."

Again there was silence, lasting a little longer than the one after the vigilante's hailing. _"I have a hit,"_ Oracle announced. _"The van is registered to an old vet clinic just outside of the city. According to my intel, it's been closed for the last five years and hasn't been used since."_

 _An abandoned vet clinic, huh? How convenient._ "Thanks, Oracle." With that Black Canary shut off the link, looking to Katana. "It looks like this van came from outside of the city. You ready for a drive?"

The Asian woman nodded. "I am."

Turning away from the van, the two women left the area, entering the alleyway and making their way to its exit. Their bikes weren't too far away, but it would take a little time to get to them. Considering the van had been left behind, there was no real reason to rush over there. It was likely the person using the place was finished with the clinic and moved on elsewhere. Considering how they just left their vehicle behind without a second thought, it stood to reason the clinic would be no different.

* * *

There was a sense of anticipation in the air. Excitement filled every cell, every pore, and poured out in waves. Everything had led up to this momentum, this glorious, glorious moment.

And it just so happened to include a mugging.

She leaned over the edge of the building and stared into the alleyway. At its bottom was some thug in a leather coat and wool hat. He had a knife in hand and was waving it around dangerously at a woman, who was cowering against the side of a dumpster, sputtering and begging not to be killed.

A look to one side showed a fire escape leading down the side of the building. Quickly, she made her way to it and began climbing down the metal structure. As fast as she wanted to be, she had to take it slow; she couldn't give away her position this soon into things. The modified grey boots she wore were thankfully made of soft material, so they weren't clattering on the metal rails. The black leggings cling to her legs as she worked her way down the fire escape.

Of course, a little color was desirable. A blue undershirt was partially covered by the piece of kevlar she wore around her waist. It looked more like a corset, but this one wasn't digging into her waist and hips like that insane piece of Victorian fashion. And if the blue wasn't enough, the stalk of purple hair whipping about her face gave her a nice edgy look.

Her blue-gloved hand dragged along the railing as she hurried down the escape, going 'round and around and around. When she finally reached the last level—and thankfully knife guy hadn't begun slicing and dicing the lady, she swung her legs over the railing shoved her heels between the bars of the fire escape. Grabbing the support bar the attached the first and second levels together, she made sure her blue headgear was in place and covering the right places of her face before she reached into her black jacket and pulled out a large, metal gun.

Holding it out with one hand, she aimed it right at the thug. She had always thought her nerves would make this a tough shot, but she was surprisingly calm. Her breathing was up, but that was from having to simultaneously climb down the fire escape without making a ruckus. Now, her arm was steady and her sights were lining up.

She squeezed the trigger.

A bolt of electricity fired from the barrel and crackled through the air. A moment later it struck knife guy in the back, his body immediately stiffening as he gave out a shrill scream. Releasing the trigger, she watched as the electricity vanished in an instant, leaving the thug standing still, smoke rising from his body.

The knife fell from his hand then, clattering on the ground. He then dropped to his knees before keeling over, collapsing into a heap of tazed body parts. The frightened woman stared at him with wide eyes, whole seconds passing by before she worked up the courage to look away and right at the blue-and-black girl.

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'thanks,'" she called out helpfully, a proud smirk on her face. She pulled the weapon back, pointing the barrel up towards the sky.

"Thanks?" the woman repeated in…well, bewilderment? Shock? Surprise? Maybe uncertainty was a better word. Still, at least she had said something.

"That's right." Holstering her gun-shaped taser, she then pulled out a much smaller gun, this time pointing it up towards the roof of the building opposite of her. "Tell your friends there's a new vigilante out and about," she added just before she pulled the trigger.

An arrowhead fired out of the barrel, a cable following it in its wake. The arrowhead hit the brick at the top of the building and pierced into it. Releasing the trigger, she then tightened her finger against it, but didn't quite fully squeeze it.

"Tell them the Bluebird is out," Harper Row added right before she finally depressed the trigger. Releasing her hold on the fire escape railing, she was pulled up and towards the other building, the wide whipping at her face and body as she ascend into the—

"Augh!" she grunted out as she rammed right into the brick wall, then felt the front of her body being roughly dragged up it. Twisting her head to a side, she gritted her teeth until she slowed to a stop. Glancing up, she saw the building's ledge within grabbing distance and immediately went for it. Getting a good grip, she hauled herself up and over the ledge rolling on top of it until she dropped onto the roof on the other side.

"Well, that could've ended better," Harper muttered to herself. There she was, looking all cool and edgy, and what does she do? Give herself road rash by climbing up the side of a building. How did the other vigilantes do it without leaving pieces of their skin along the side of buildings?

Still, that had been great. A smile worked its way onto Harper's face. That had been her first bust and aside from her exit, it couldn't have gone better. Her stun gun worked, her costume struck a badass vibe that left people speechless; what could possibly make this any better?

A stinging sensation made itself known on the side of her face, causing Harper to wince. Okay, so maybe she hadn't bemoaned scrapping most of herself against brick and mortar. She needed more practice with her homemade grapple gun, but hey, that's what the rest of the night was for.

Once she put a bandaid on her skinned face, that is.

* * *

The Hosea's Veterinarian Clinic looked about how Black Canary suspected it would. A few rundown, interconnected buildings, a large parking lot, and a chain link fence surrounding it. It had certainly seen better days.

Yet, there was one thing wrong with the place: the lock to the gates was new. It was still shiny, free of rust that clung to the metal gate. That was the first clue that someone had been using the place recently.

A quick sword strike from Katana severed the lock in two and the two Birds of Prey pulled up to the front of the vet clinic. Killing the engines, the vigilante's got off their motorcycles and picked the lock of the front door, entering the building soon after.

What had to have been the lobby greeted the women upon entering. It was empty of everything, as if it hadn't been used in…well, years. Clearly this part of the complex hadn't been bothered with. Making their way to the back of the room, passing behind what had been the front desk, they reached a door and opened it.

A hallway greeted them next. Walking down it, they soon saw several rooms, their doors wide open. Looks through the doorways indicated these rooms were for the animal patients that were brought here. Again, these places were empty, save for the built-in cabinets that had once housed medical equipment for examinations. Tiny holes in the sheetrock indicated where pushpins had held up posters on the walls.

Despite this emptiness, there was a feeling in Black Canary's gut. Something about this place just felt _wrong._ It was hard to explain, but the further she explored this place, the more she felt ill at ease. Perhaps it was just a feeling; perhaps she was feeling paranoid for no good reason; all she knew is that she didn't like this place.

Towards the end of the hall they finally hit paydirt. Unlike the examination rooms, this room's door was closed. Opening it, they were greeted with the sight of a lab. Originally it was intended to run blood tests and other diagnostic exams of animal fluids and waste products. Now though, some rather expensive lab tech was placed on the work benches. Vials and beakers were scattered all over the tables with various machines and microscopes mingling with them. There was a nearby trashcan that was overflowing with balled-up pieces of paper. Kneeling down next to it, the blonde vigilante picked up one of the paper balls and fiddled with it until it resembled a crinkled piece of paper.

There was handwriting on the paper, all with scribbles of numbers and letters. It looked like some sort of formula, be it scientific or mathematic. Some were scratched through, especially towards the bottom of the page.

Black Canary imagined many of the other paper balls were the same. In the meantime, Katana had ventured further into the room, looking at some of the microscope and even looking into the lens. She didn't say anything, so the blonde imagine her friend didn't find anything.

Still, just because they weren't seeing anything didn't mean there weren't other means of detection. "Is anything jumping out at you?" Black Canary called out.

"I do not like this place," Katana answered her, one hand hovering by her sword hilt uneasily. "This place feels wrong."

Oh good, it wasn't just her. Standing up, Black Canary took another look around before spotting another doorway towards the other end of the room. Walking towards it, she faintly heard Katana following behind her. Once they reached the door, the blonde vigilante grabbed the door handle and turned it, finding it to be unlocked.

Opening the door, they found another room, though this one was dark. There was a faint, yet unfortunately familiar sound too, which caused a sinking feeling to well up in her stomach. Eyeing a lightswitch off to her left, she reached out and flicked the switch on.

The lights immediately came out, which caused an uproar of screeches, barks, and howls. One of Black Canary's hands shot up to cover her mouth as she stared at the sight in horror.

There was a wall entirely covered with cages. They were reminiscent of the cages in the van Katana had discovered, though they were definitely larger in size. However, whereas the Man-Bats there had been completely changed, the ones here...weren't.

There were Man-Bats in the cages, to be sure, many of which seemed to either attack at the bars in front of them, or were scrambling to hide in the furthest corner of their cages. In other cages were dogs and cats, all of which were making the distinctly non-Man-Bat screams. They were doing their best to stay away from the mutated bats as much as they could.

And then were the others. Various cats and dogs were in various stages of transformation. Some had developed wings from their front legs, some had bat-like heads and faces while the rest of their bodies remained the same. Some had their upper bodies transformed while the rest of them weren't, and vice-versa. It was a scene right out of a mad scientist's laboratory.

"Whoever did this is not human," Katana spoke lowly as she stared at the poor creatures.

 _Damn right they're not._ In all of her life, Black Canary never understood how people could be so cruel to animals. The depravity was mind-boggling. "We need to find whoever did this and make them pay. No way should they get away with this."

"What do we do with the animals?" Katana asked.

The blonde woman swallowed deeply. "We should free the animals not changed yet. Then we'll get the antidote and change the others back."

The two stared at the frightened animals for awhile after that. It was just that hard to look away. Ultimately, they did turn to leave, though they turned the light off if only to make sure the person responsible for this wasn't aware of their visit should they return while they were gone. Working their way through the lab, they reached the exit in short order.

The moment they opened the door, however, they ran into some unexpected company. There was a man dressed in head-to-toe green; in fact, he looked like someone right out of Robin Hood. The only part of him that wasn't green was the blonde beard and moustache around his mouth.

There was a look of surprise on his face in spite of the green domino mask he wore. Clearly he wasn't expecting to see the two Birds. Yet, there was only one reason this man could have been here—he was responsible for that horror show in the back.

So Black Canary did the only thing that came to mind: she slammed her fist into the green-dressed man's face. The man cried out in surprise as he stumbled backwards, his back colliding with the wall on the other side of the hall.

Leaping forward, Canary swung her leg up, attempting to land a kick across the guy's face. However, he seemed to recover quicker than anticipated as he shot an arm up and blocked the kick with his forearm.

That was when Katana darted around the blonde vigilante, drawing her sword while simultaneously slashing the weapon at her foe. "Whoa!" the man cried out before he ducked the slash, Katana's sword leaving a gash in the wall from where the blade cut into it.

However, because of this Black Canary had to raise her extended leg up higher to avoid getting cut herself. This left her wide open for the green-dressed man to drop into a crouched stance before he lashed out with his own leg, kicking out Canary's grounded leg as he spun around on the floor. Letting out a surprised cry, the blonde woman fell onto the floor, but immediately went into a roll, going legs over head until she was back on her feet.

Meanwhile, Katana pressed her attack, landing a kick to the side of the man's head. He too dropped to the floor, but like Canary went into a roll, ending up back on his feet. This, however, gave her a good look at the man's back, seeing a quiver full of arrows and a bow.

As he shot up to stand on his feet, the man grabbed his bow and pulled it over his shoulder even as she spun around to face Katana. He got his weapon up just in time to block the Asian woman's sword strike, a dull thud echoing out into the hall.

"Hold it, Crouching Tiger!" the man exclaimed. "I don't want to fight you."

He then pushed back against Katana's sword, parrying before he jumped backwards to put some distance between her and him. He held his bow out in front of him, his hands holding it on either end of the weapon's body. "Now, if we just talk this out, I think we can all leave this place in a way that benefits all of us."

Reading his body language, Black Canary realized this guy meant what he said. He was purposefully keeping himself in a defensive stance; not one muscle indicated he wanted to fight. Katana had to have noticed this since she didn't press her attack.

Still, no way were they going to drop their guard. Rising up to her feet while keeping in her own defensive posture, Black Canary called out, "Who are you?"

"Name's Green Arrow," he answered, slowly lowering his bow to one side. "I came a long way to find this place—can't say I was expecting to see either of you two pretty ladies though."

Black Canary raised an eyebrow at that. "And where did you come from?"

Green Arrow looked to the blonde. For a moment she felt as if he were checking her out and not in the professional manner. "Star City, ma'am.

"Now, if you don't mind my askin', can you tell me your names?"

The two women looked to each other. It was clear neither of them trusted this guy, but he obviously didn't mean them harm, at least at this moment. Still, it wouldn't do any harm to at least give them their names. "I'm Black Canary," the blonde answered for the both of them. "And she's Katana. Now tell us what you're doing here."

"Tough crowd," Green Arrow muttered before he straightened out his posture. "I'm not sure whether your know this or not, but Star City has recently had some troubles with giant bats. I'm sure you know the kind."

"We do."

"When they started popping up, I did some investigating. From what I found out, there's this guy name Dr. Milo; apparently he managed to get his hands on some of that monster bat formula that was made in your neck of the woods. He'd been doing some experiments of animals—mostly strays. Then he up and left and this is where I tracked his last known whereabouts."

That seemed convenient—a mad scientist experimenting with the Man-Bat serum. Still, they would look into this Dr. Milo and see if all of this added up. If so, then they had their man.

"Which brings me to something else," the green-dressed man continued. "I know there's a bit of a hierarchy in Gotham. I knew if I was going anywhere with my investigation, I'd have to talk to the Big Cheese here, so I have a request of you. Can you get me a meeting with the big guy?"

That caused Black Canary to blink her eyes owlishly. Was this guy talking about what she thought he was talking about? "You want us to help you meet up with Batman?" she questioned carefully.

Green Arrow nodded. "It's more of a formality thing, really. This isn't my home turf and I know if some other vigilante wanted to work my town, I'd want a talk with them. From what I hear, your Batman is the same way. So I'm hoping to do the same with the big, bad Bat. Can you help me out?"

This was too bizarre for words. "What makes you think we can get you a meeting with him?"

"He's letting you work the same streets, ain't he? You must've gotten permission for that."

 _Well, more or less._ Honestly, Black Canary couldn't fault the guy for his reasoning. Knowing Batman like she did, there was no way he'd let this guy on the streets without doing his due diligence. Perhaps this wasn't that bad of an idea after all.

Of course, there was just one, tiny problem.

"Hate to break it to you, but we don't have a direct line to Batman," she informed the archer. "Very few people do. It may take a little time, but we'll see if we can get a hold of him. No promises."

Green Arrow was silent for a moment. Then, "If that's the way it is, fine." That caused Canary's eyes to narrow. She had the sneaky suspicion that this guy was not going to cool his heels waiting for permission; he was going to keep up his investigation regardless what happened. It seemed he would need to be monitored.

"If you give us a way to contact you, we can let you know something as soon as possible," she ventured.

This time he nodded his acceptance. "Sure thing, Pretty Bird. What's your number?"

And suddenly she regretted her choice.

* * *

The doors were violently kicked open, large men in solid whites and black charging in armed with machine guns, the barrels aimed at the patrons and employees of the illegal establishment. Suited men froze as gun barrels singled them out, hands inches away from retrieving their guns.

Commotion in the back directed the stunned and frightened people. Without warning, several rough-looking men were shoved into the main area, running into tables and guests, creating a mess wherever they landed. Behind them, more black and white dressed men swarmed in, brandishing guns of every sort and make.

The patrons of the establishment were gasping, ducking beneath their tables for safety. Some even tried to use the poker tables. It created a lot of noise, their cries and screams of terror. So much so that the two-faced leader of these intruders entered unnoticed.

That didn't last for long when he fired the machine gun he held at the ceiling, the rapidfire shots of multiple bullets silencing everyone. It also had the added effect of bringing all attention on him. Stopping his gunfire, Two-face lowered his weapon but kept it at the ready, perfectly willing to use it again.

"Your attention," he boomed into the room. "For the next ten minutes, I'm in charge. Anybody who gets any ideas and tries to play a hero becomes a martyr." To his men, he gave his next directive, "Get all the guns and make sure there's no one hiding out. I want all Thorne's men right here."

The Two Ton Gang were quick to work, wrestling any and all gangsters into the center of the gambling den's main room. They weren't gentle about it either, occasionally decking a man here and there and leaving them crumpled on the floor.

From beside the disfigured crime lord, Min asked, "What do you want to do about them?" He gestured to the patrons and customers who continued to watch fearfully.

"Rob 'em," was the quick answer. "They knew the risks of coming here. While you're at it, find anything else these creeps are hiding. Valuables. Cash. You name it. No sense letting any of it go to waste."

"You heard the boss," Max chuckled. Then, to the not-so-innocent bystanders, "Empty your pockets, purses, whatever. We want it all. Put it on the tables or join them," he finished with a jerk of his heard towards the group of gangsters.

The sheeple were quick to pull out their wallets, obeying instantly. While Max saw to that, Min had gone over behind the bar, finding a large safe tucked away behind it.

The finding of the safe hadn't been part of the plan though. A coin toss was needed; good heads they would leave the safe alone, bad heads they'd take whatever was inside for their own. And it was bad heads. A short interrogation got them the combination and once opened, they had found the motherlode. Looked like the safe was this den's life savings.

This was turning out to be a bigger haul than planned. Still, it gave the men something to stay for, a little something extra to keep their loyalty.

"Say, that's a nice ring you have," he heard Max remark. "Don't mind if I—"

"Max," he growled, giving the twin a pointed look. Another thing that wasn't part of the plan. Should they take jewelry too along with their haul or let these bastards keep something? Turning his gaze to his coin, he gave it another flip. Bad heads. "Get all jewelry too."

"Hey!" someone protested. As Max and the men turned to the objector, Two-face gave another flip. Bad heads again. This was a night to be bad. Raising his automatic weapon up, he ended that person's life.

"Anyone else?" he asked pleasantly. When there were no further objections, Two-face calmly strolled over to the true targets of this raid. Most were glaring up at him, most likely thinking of the various ways to hurt and kill him for this.

Two-face showed no signs of being intimidated. He was far from intimidated. He stared back down at them, allow his looks to make them squeamish until one by one they began to look away.

"So, you thought you could operate on my turf without consequence," he spoke up. "Big mistake."

"This is Thorne's territory!" one of the gangster spat at him.

"And where is Thorne? That's right. Nowhere around to protect you anymore. Times have changed. Thorne's out and I'm in." Two-face didn't bother to hide his contempt for these maggots. There was no point in trying to recruit them. Truly there wasn't; their loyalty was too great. A nice virtue to have but not when it could get you killed. "If you won't get with the program, then it's time to retire you."

So what to do? He could still give them another chance to give in and become a henchman or should he flat out kill them and be done with it? He gave another flip of his coin. Good heads. "Still, I can be merciful. I'll give you one chance to join me. How about it?"

Someone literally spat at him. They weren't a good shot since their spit landed right by his feet.

"I'll take that as a no," Two-face stated calmly. "For all of you."

Ignoring protests, he gave another look to his coin. So what would he do now? He wasn't leaving without destroying this place and arson would be effective at doing that. Should he have these men killed so they didn't suffer the pain of burning alive or let them roast, screaming their lungs out? He gave another flip to the coin. Good heads. "Alright boys. Shoot'em in the heads, be quick about it. Then pour the gasoline and get ready to burn this place."

"How about them?" Max asked, gesturing to all the patrons.

A good question. One that needed the coin to answer. Should he extend mercy and let these people leave with their lives? It wasn't their fault they happened to be in this place on this night. Yet, there was a price for vice, and wasn't gambling a vice? These places were dangerous for a reason. It would send the clear message that no one was safe, and that if you wanted to live you would stay away from "businesses" that didn't belong to him. It was a good way to kill the competition. What to do? Life or death? He gave another flip and waited for the answer. Bad heads. Heh.

"Tie them all up and leave them to burn," he called out. "They knew the risks of coming. Now they have to pay."

"Are you sure about that?" Min pipped, sounding a bit disturbed.

A look from Two-face silenced him. "The coin's decided. It's out of our hands. Now get to work."

"Yes, of course boss! Whatever you say!" Min said hastily.

Two-face turned his back to the unfolding scene as the Two Ton Gang executed the renegade mobsters and tied up the panicking and screaming customers. The crime lord left the establishment as the gasoline cans were brought in and opened. Moments later, he was leaving with his men in tow as fire blazed throughout the former gambling den.

The screams of the innocents burning alive were ignored.

* * *

Author's Note: I bet no one expected a visit from the Emerald Archer. Anybody caught off by surprise? Before you think that this is just some fan service, there is a real reason why Green Arrow is here in Gotham. Also, a fun fact, when I was writing the Two-face scenes, I was flipping a coin to see what he was going to do. There were some actions I had not intended for him to do, but the coin spoke and I had to obey. With this in mind, will anybody be able to predict what'll happen in this installment?


	3. Turning Around a Bad Situation

Turning Around a Bad Situation

It was a good time to be a journalist.

There was chaos in the streets, people were terrified, the police were showing just how inept they were. It was like the old days of Mob rule, just before the wave of vigilantism that swept the city. Things had gotten rather stale after that to be honest and when there was peace, there weren't as many good stories to write.

This time, however, had a lovely little twist to it. The recent spike in gangland crime was all because of the Golden Boy of Gotham himself, the District Attorney that had vowed to rid the city of crime, Harvey Dent. His crusade for law and order had become a journey into Hell itself, dragging everyone and everything with him. He had taken over a former Mob boss' operation, killed off the opposition, and was in the midst of cementing total power for himself, all while his former partner in the police commissioner sat on his ass dumbstruck.

You couldn't make this stuff up.

Relaxing in her chair, Vicki stared at the latest article she had written, the headline boldly proclaiming, TWO-FACED MAN RULING FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF was her working title and it needed to be trimmed down to be frank. There was time for that later though, it was the article itself that was glorious. It was some of her finest work yet, even up there with her old Fries pieces.

A grunt interrupted her reverie, causing Vicki to look away from her computer. Some guy in a jumpsuit was carrying a large cardboard box, shifting it in his arms as he walked by her desk.

 _That time of the year already?_ Vicki watched the man head towards the elevators, disappearing from sight. The archive was being cleaned up it seemed. Every year or so, all the recent stories and research was collected, boxed up, and sent to be digitally scanned into their archive system. Where the physical stuff went, the redhead didn't know, but there was always a procession of middle-age jumpsuits carrying the stuff out. Somewhere in all of that was some of her work.

Meh, it wasn't worth her attention.

Looking back to her screen, the reporter began scrolling down the body, scanning it for errors or simply to add a line here or there. Speed reading through one paragraph, she found she wasn't too satisfied with it; it was like she had gone on autopilot here and put something out.

The expression on her face matched the feeling inside of her. Considering how every paper in the city was writing about Harvey Dent's betrayal, it seemed as if she were just following the herd. She needed something new, something that gripped everyone's attention and she couldn't do that by simply putting out the same hogwash as everyone else. Suddenly Vicki wasn't too high on this piece. What had she been thinking putting it up with her near-Pulitzer Prize work?

This would do for now, though. Vicki needed to hit the streets for a lead that bled. No more of this middle of the pack stuff.

Hitting the save button, the redhead minimized the prompt window. She'd come back later and send it to Editing; with any luck, she might find something worth publishing and add it to this lackluster piece.

Grabbing her purse, Vicki stood up, running a hand down her skirt to smooth out any wrinkles. It was a routine gesture nothing more. However, when she moved out from behind her desk, some idiot decided to bump right into her.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, just as one of the jumpsuits dropped a box to the floor. The lid popped off the box, spilling countless photos all over the place, including onto her rather expensive pumps. There were a couple CD cases mingled in the mess as well, but that was neither here nor there.

"Watch where you're going," she snapped at the man heatedly. Even more irritating was that the man simply ignored her, kneeling down to show the mess back into the box. What, no apology? Goddamn prick.

"Are you listening to me?" Vicki demanded as she leaned towards the guy. "Hey, jumpsuit, look at me when I'm talking!"

"Lady, give it a rest," the man shot at her. "Sorry if this ruined your day, but I literally don't have any fucks to give, so shut your trap."

Red hot anger exploded throughout Vicki. How dare this knuckle-dragging clod talk to her this way?! Where the hell was Harry? She was gonna tell him all about this incident and get this asshole fired. She did not deserve to be spoken to that way and she would make it clear there better be repercussions.

She was even going to tell him as much when something caught her eye. On top of her feet were a few photos, a couple of which had their edges digging into the top of her foot. Normally Vicki would've kicked them off, but the top photo got her interest. It was of a black car, low to the ground, with distinctive fenders towards the back.

Kneeling down, Vicki picked up the picture for a better look. The quality was okay, but then it didn't need to be great either to know that it was a shot of the Batmobile. Hell, every Gothamite knew that car by sight.

Which brought up her Batman investigation. Because of Dent's turn to the dark side, she had shelved that story for the fresher one. In fact, the redhead was hard-pressed to remember the last time she had made headway with it. That would need to change; in fact, she needed to call up Simon to get an update on his end of things.

Staring at the photo, something seemed off about it. Staring at it, it took a while before Vicki realized there was someone standing next to the Batmobile. They were dressed in black, thin, and that was about it. Dark-colored hair, maybe? The only spot of color aside from black was their face and it was definitely young.

Vicki's brow furrowed. "How old is this picture?" she asked.

Surprisingly, the jumpsuit answered her. "A couple years, I think. It's from that alien invasion."

The reporter continued to stare at the photograph. "Is this entire box from that time?"

Out of the corner of her eye, the man shrugged his shoulders. "I guess so. Not sure."

It took a moment for Vicki to ponder this, then come to a decision. "Can I look through all of this? I just need a day or so."

She was willing to put on her feminine wiles, even if this guy looked like he could be her father. It wasn't something she was proud to stoop to, but if it was called for she was more than willing to do it. Much to her surprise though, the guy just looked at her, considered what she asked and if she was serious about then, then abruptly stood up, stopping his task. "It's all yours, lady," he grunted before he trudged back the way he came.

Watching him go, Vicki felt slightly annoyed that the bozo didn't finish his job and put all the pictures back. _Asshole._ Placing her prized photo on her desk, the redhead quickly scooped up all the photos and CD tapes and dropped them in the box. It took multiple scoops, several minutes of her time, but she did it. Pushing the box up against her desk, she then stood up and made to sit back in her chair.

Opening a drawer, Vicki combed through all the files in there until she found the one she wanted. Pulling it out, she slapped it down on her desk and opened it. Papers, notes, and pictures were piled into the folder, which ignored all but the pictures. Rifling through them, she searched for one in particular, finding it soon after.

In her hand was the picture Simon Belford had taken at Wayne Manor, the one of a girl seen opening the drapes to one of its many rooms. Picking up the one of the Batmobile, Vicki held each picture next to each other, glancing back and forth as she looked for any commonalities.

The corner of her mouth twitched up. It was a little difficult, not something she'd want to use in a court of law, but Vicki was certain the girl at Wayne Manor was the same one standing next to the Batmobile. If she wasn't mistaken, after the alien invasion, a Batgirl had been reported scouring the night with the Batman.

This couldn't be coincidence.

Sadly, as Vicki recalled, Simon hadn't found any history on the girl. As he had put it, she just appeared out of thin air. As disappointing as that was, it was okay for now. The reporter had a pretty good link between this girl and Batgirl; and if she was staying with Bruce Wayne, that only confirmed her suspicions of his night life.

It seemed she needed to get back to that story.

* * *

"...and that will close us at the quarter with another net loss," the board member reported calmly. His fingers clutching at the paper, causing it to wrinkle slightly was the only sign of his anxiety.

Once again, Bruce found himself cursing Hugo Strange. There was also some venom towards Vicki Vale, but without Strange, the reporter never would've had the material to write the story she had. Once word got out about Dr. Kirk Langstrom's Bat experiments, however, Wayne Enterprises had been hit with a tidal wave of bad press, a significant drop in profits, and lost business.

As you can imagine, all of this had not slipped underneath the noses of the Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors.

This marked the eighth straight month of lost revenue and business, and the second quarterly report of negative sales and a drop in stocks. It didn't need to be said that this would be the first of many to come such reports to come in the coming months.

"Shareholders are starting to lose faith in us," Lauren Granger remarked. "We need to get a handle on this quickly, or our stocks are going to tank worse than they already are."

"And they're already at the lowest levels we've seen in a decade," William Dithers proclaimed. The Cryptkeeper's face was beginning to take on a red hue, a sign of his anger. It was actually amazing that he was still on the board considering everything that had happened. Bruce had been sure the man would've had a heart attack long before now, especially since he nitpicked at damn near every little detail.

"It wouldn't be the first time there's been a drop like this. Wayne Enterprises has been around for so long that it has faced such times before," Lincoln March pointed out. "All we need is the right plan to turn it around."

Despite the fiasco happening at the Wayne Pharmaceutical branch, March had risen through the ranks with tenacity and persistence and had just joined the board last month. No part of Bruce wasn't impressed by this. In fact, he felt that if given the right persuasion, March would become a great asset on the board.

Of course, at the mention of plan, all eyes turned to Lucius Fox. This was expected to be honest. It was widely believed Fox ran the company, so rarely did anyone expect Bruce Wayne to lead a stunning comeback from a scandal. Nevertheless, that hadn't stopped the man from trying to include Bruce in the company's day-to-day operations. Unfortunately, with the fallout from Strange, that plan had failed spectacularly. So focused on cleaning it up, Bruce had once again been neglecting his duties to the company, much to the older man's chagrin.

Lucius sighed in his seat, a sign of his fatigue with the entire matter. "In the long term, accepting responsibility for this mess is the right way to go," he said.

"But that will kill us!" Dither exclaimed, nearly shooting out of his chair. "Wayne Enterprises won't have a long term future if it's killed by this!"

"I see Dithers is in rare form," March muttered to Bruce, causing a small smirk to appear on his face. It was strange how comfortable the young man had gotten with March at these board meetings in such a short amount of time. They routinely joked about the others members as if they were long-time friends. In fact, it had been a long time since he had done so.

"Maybe this is what stops him from having a future," the billionaire whispered backed.

"If only," March joked back.

"Dithers, you know as well as I do if we deny and stall on this, it will only drag this out," Lucius responded measuredly. "The sooner we acknowledge responsibility, the sooner we can put this behind us. We just need to highlight some of our older product lines and keep the public informed of our audits in R&D. Things will be uncomfortable, but that's just how we're going to have to ride this out."

"Some good publicity wouldn't hurt either," March suggested.

Dithers snorted. "And who would give us a chance now? Do I have to remind you that many of our old business partners are _withdrawing_ their business from us? No one will touch us with a thirty foot pole!"

"Then we do something to appeal to the public directly," the other man countered. "Charities aren't going to refuse our donations; they can't afford to. We just need to get the right one with enough clout and exposure to give us a good start."

"That does have merit," Granger agreed.

Lucius was silent during this exchange. However, there was a twinkle in his eyes that hinted that a plan was forming. "I think I know just the group," he said, earning himself the attention of the room. "With all of the recent losses with the GCPD, City Hall is hosting a fundraiser for them to hire more staff and show their support. A hefty check there should help out."

That sounded good to Bruce. Yet, he had a nagging thought, one that told him there was something else going on here.

"You're talking about that party where the Mayor invited the Justice League for their support, right?" Brian Jennings asked.

And that explained the nagging feeling. With all that had happened in Gotham lately, Mayor Grange was trying to score some points with the law and order crowd and somehow managed to get the Justice League to agree to attend. Superman had informed him on the invite and of the League's acceptance of said invitation. It wasn't something he took much joy in, but he hadn't seen any reason to try and dissuade them.

"That's the one," Lucius acknowledged. "Which means we need our own representative there." It was then Lucius looked right at Bruce. It didn't need to be said between the two men that the PR agent would not be attending this.

Which meant it was time for Bruce to step up to the plate, no matter how reluctant he was. "I suppose I can get a suit ironed by them," he spoke up flippantly.

"You want to send _Bruce_ on something this important?" the Cryptkeeper all but exploded. "His going will all but ensure no one will take us seriously!"

"And if we send you, we're just signaling how desperate we are for good press," Bruce couldn't help but say back. It was snarky and it would've been best if he had kept that to himself, but as of right now his reputation with the Board was not in a good place. He could get away with sounding petulant.

"Now, now, no need to be attacking each other," Lucius admonished them. "We're getting enough of that from outside the company; no need to do it amongst ourselves. I do think it should be Bruce that does go, though. We need to show we _are_ engaged in this and no matter his reputation, people will take notice if he shows up or not."

That was when March reached a hand out and clasped Bruce's shoulder. "Looks like you're going to get to meet the Justice League. I hope you're going stag because I'd love to hear how you chat up Wonder Woman."

The collective groan from the rest of the board showed just how they felt about that.

* * *

Sarah gave a short whistle, deliberately wanting the attention of her target.

"I'm not a dog, whistle at somebody else!" Bullock scowled at her.

Attention had been obtained.

"How you holding up, Harv? You look a bit stressed out," she commented as she stood by the lieutenant's perpetually messy desk. She'd say it resembled Jim's but her husband had some kind of order to his chaos. Harvey Bullock didn't.

"Worried about my health? I'm touched. What'cha want?" Bullock replied. "If you want to dump some work on me, I'll give you the same answer I gave the last guy: fat chance. I'm buried up to my ears as it is. Take a wild guess why."

"Now Harvey," chastised a Hispanic woman. "I don't think Lieutenant Gordon is here to pick a fight with you. It looks like she wants something."

"Everybody wants something, Rook," Bullock retorted. "Nobody ever asks what I want. And in case you were wondering, it's a nice ribeye steak, medium rare. Gotta have pink in it or somebody's gonna be hurt."

"Right," deadpanned Montoya. Even though she was no longer his partner or a rookie and had gone on to do some impressive investigating and work, Bullock continued to call her "Rook." Why he continued to do that, Sarah had no idea and figured she probably didn't want to. That man was one of a kind.

"Maybe another time, Harvey," she said wryly. "In the meantime, maybe you'd like a lighter caseload."

"I'm listening," Bullock said, his complete undivided attention on her.

"The commissioner wants to open a new task force and has tapped me to lead it. He's gone over to Mayor Grange to get her support," Sarah explained.

"I can guess who the target is," Harvey grumbled.

"If your guess is our former district attorney, then you're dead on the money," Sarah confirmed. "Right now, I'm recruiting. The commissioner has authorized anybody who is on the force will only work on that case."

"That sounds just lovely, 'cept I was in charge of my own task force once. It's just trading a truckload of work for another truckload of work. Nothing changes," Bullock snarked. "You need to be a better salesperson, lieutenant. You want to lead a task force, you need the most experienced people you can find, not a bunch of greenhorns who'll jump at the chance."

"So I take that as a no?" Sarah summed up, feeling a bit disappointed. For all his faults, one thing positive about Bullock was that he was dedicated. You pointed out who you wanted and he went after them like a snarling junkyard dog. That kind of reliability was something that she had wanted as one other virtue he had was keeping people in line, or at least shaming them into doing it.

"I'll help," Montoya stated, standing up straight.

Well at least there was one dependable person. Montoya's intelligence and keen insight would be greatly valued. Puzzling out patterns was something that came natural to her and being able to predict what their quarry may do would be invaluable.

"Now hold on there. I didn't say anything about a no," Bullock spoke up. "If there's one thing I have learned, you need dependable people working with you, somebody who's not going to go off the rails and in the wrong direction. Lady, you need me."

Sarah began frowning because instead of getting to his feet, Bullock slouched back in his seat, looking up at her expectantly.

"And what is holding you back?" she asked warily.

He had the nerve to smirk up at her. "You didn't say the magic word."

Sarah blinked. "The magic word?"

"You know."

"No I don't know. What's the magic word?"

Bullock's eyes widened innocently. "Please."

"Harv," Montoya groaned.

"Ah, I'll let you off the hook just this once. Get the com'mish to make his announcement and I'll be there ready to shoulder the load. Trust me, you'll need it." Bullock nodded solemnly at her, making this all the more surreal.

"Thanks," she said. Why was it after all these years, it was Bullock who could surprise her like this?

By her count, she had two recruits for this task force, both of whom she knew had proven track records of both loyalty and dedication. They'd be supportive of the aims of this investigation and provide a unifying force, both appealing to different parts of the department. It also didn't hurt they were firmly in Jim's corner on most occasions.

Sarah's work was far from over, though. She had a list of officers and detectives she needed to speak to for recruitment purposes. There were some she had her doubts about, but she would extend the invitation anyway.

Right now, with how the streets were being taken from them, the police force needed to fight back. They needed to pull themselves out of their shock and complacency to do what they were supposed to do. Protect and serve the people. Everybody was scared, and she understood it, but that was why they were here, enforcing law and order.

Yes, the person responsible used to be an ally, but as far as she was concerned, he was another criminal that needed to be apprehended. It wasn't going to be easy, but nothing worth doing was.

The fight to take back Gotham was only beginning. This task force was going to be the first wave of retaliation. Sarah was determined and would not let it end in disaster.

Because in the end, it was their job to fight for the city, no matter if they had helping hands from vigilantes.

* * *

After all these years, Gordon knew his way through City Hall better than he wanted to. How many times had he walked these halls again? Too many was the simple and short answer. The people here may change, depending on elections and the random attempts on their lives, but the halls and offices were always the same.

How many mayors had he met here? They were beginning to run together at this point. He did know that Marion Grange was the current mayor. She was also the one that had least called him to meet her in his office. The ones before it was almost a weekly basis with them. Grange was content with a hands-off approach towards City Hall-Police relations. So long as they made her administration look good, she didn't care how he ran the department.

Which made his trip here unusual. Typically he was called here. This time he was here on his own terms. He needed Grange's full support with the task force. That would mean an increase in the department's budget as most had been spent trying and failing to clean up after the city's newest crime lord. He also needed political support, if only so that there was little pressure from those who would cry nepotism at his naming Sarah in charge of the task force.

Gordon hoped that Grange was as desperate as he was right now to end this chaos. However, he needed to be careful. In the past, Grange had proven to be quite shrewd. There was a very good possibility that she would get more out of him than he intended.

Reaching the mayor's office, and letting the receptionist know that he had arrived, Gordon waited to be called in. He took that time to ready himself until the summons came.

Grange was at her desk, eyes cast downwards, her arm moving with the tale-tell motions of writing. Her mane of gray hair was pulled back to keep stray locks out of her face. She didn't look up when she greeted, "Take a seat Gordon. I'll be with you in a moment. Close the door while you're at it."

Gordon shut the doors to her office and walked over to the pair of chairs strategically placed before the large, mayoral desk. He made himself as comfortable as possible until the mayor finished what she was doing and sat straight up.

"We'll have to make this short, Gordon. I have a meeting in twenty minutes and you can guess what it's about. Tell me what you're doing about Harvey Dent."

Well, that saved him the trouble of trying to make short talk. "I'm in the process of forming a task force. Any and all available resources I can spare are being diverted towards it. Unfortunately, it's not as much as I'd like-"

"So you want a bigger budget to account for it," Grange cut him off. "I'll bring it up at the meeting and have it rubber stamped. Thank you Commissioner, you've given me something to bring up and saved me from accusations of incompetence, however late it might be."

Huh. This was going better than he had thought. Gordon had believed that it would have taken some time convincing Grange to come aboard. That's what he had to do with mayors that had come before. A very pleasant surprise, this was. But he wasn't done. Not yet. There was still that one detail he needed to talk with her about.

"There's one more thing I need to speak with you about," Gordon said.

"Speak," came the command.

"The person I want to lead the task force is Lieutenant Sarah Gordon. I want to assure you that she is perfectly qualified for the position, but I am also aware that it might cause some problems," the commissioner explained. "I need your support in allowing her this position."

"You've already figured on the charges of nepotism," Grange said wryly. "I do agree that your wife is qualified. However, my concern is less about her and more about you. I do know that you used to have a close working relationship with our rogue DA. I'd imagine that someone would bring up the possibility of you using your wife's position as a way to keep tabs on the task force's developments. And with your past relationship with Dent, you could be accused of helping the enemy."

"Who would get an stupid idea like that?" Gordon nearly growled out.

"Let's not forget that you still have enemies. Some of them are mine," Grange remarked. "Since everyone's been too busy with Dent's crime wave, there haven't been as many accusations of cronyism or corruption. You putting your wife in charge of a task force might be putting fuel onto that particular fire. I would rather avoid such a pitfall, thank you very much."

"Can _you_ name anybody who would be up to the task?" Gordon retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fortunately for you, the people I would list happen to be dead, courtesy of Dent," answered Grange.

"Sarah will get the job done. Unlike others, she will not get distracted and try to fulfill some ulterior agenda," Gordon continued to argue. "She has her record. It's solid. I'll give you a copy of it if you want. She is who I want to lead the task force and you can't convince me that there is a better person for it."

"Gordon, you seem to be under the idea that I'm against her," Grange stated. "I'm not. I'm looking at this from all points of view. I have to if I want to deal with the group of snakes that make up Gotham's City Council. So here's what you'll do. Head over to the DA's offices. If you want your wife to lead the task force, we'll need a neutral party, one to back her up. Kate Spencer may be interim at the moment, but she will do as our objective voice."

Gordon nodded at that. It made sense, too much sense. Even when Gotham was being torn apart, there were still people trying to play politics. How did these people keep being elected?

"If I were you, I'd head over to Spencer right now," Grange recommended. "The sooner you can convince her, the better I can make my arguments. If we're to set up this task force and get the budget necessary for it, that's what we need to do."

"Then expect a call from her shortly," the commissioner promised.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish up making preparations for tonight's fundraiser. You did get that invite, correct?" The mayor had already looked away from him, a sign of dismissal when she asked her question.

"You'll have to remind me about it," Gordon said as he stood up, eager to leave.

"I've invited the Justice League to pay our city a visit. Hopefully their temporary presence will be enough to give Dent pause, long enough that we can make some headway against him," Grange explained. "I believe it would be in your best interest to attend as well."

It sounded like a publicity stunt. Even if Grange had gotten the Justice League to come down here, for what reason would they have to quell Gotham's problem with a two-faced crime lord? The Justice League took on threats that were more global; a single city's problems weren't enough for them to make any kind of overt intervention.

To Gordon, this sounded like a ploy for some positive PR. It was the mayor playing politics too. So long as she wasn't working against him, she could do what she wanted.

He had a task force to create.


	4. Impressions

Impressions

Tim was glad that school was over for the day. He had spent much of it slipping in five minute power naps here and there. The long nights were catching up to him. But he needed to maintain his dual life at all costs. For one thing, he had no intention of giving up the nightlife of a vigilante. However, he had to keep up his day job of being an average high school student.

If only he could do without one of them. Oh well.

For now, if this ever present conflict could not be resolved, he'd settle for a nap in his bed, safe at home. He was on the last leg of his trip home, taking the school bus to the part of the suburbs his house was located. The stop was a couple blocks away, so that meant a short walk that he personally would have wished to skip, but hey, what can you do?

As he approached his home, he noted the presence of two cars in the driveway. Not a common occurrence, since his dad should have been at work. The teen didn't expect to see his old man until later in the evening. So it was odd. Eh, he probably took off early. Out of character for his dad but not entirely unheard of.

He shuffled down the sidewalk then the concrete path that led up to the front door. Pulling out his house keys, he unlocked it without checking to see if the door was locked in the first place. It was kinda habit for him to do, regardless of whether he needed to or not. Sure he could check first, but he was feeling lazy. Sue him.

"Mom?" he called out as he entered. "Dad? I'm home. Heading up to my room."

To his surprise, he heard his dad's voice come from the living room. "Tim? Could you come to the living room for a moment?"

That gave him pause. Okay, he had little alarms screaming in his head right now. Perhaps he should have been concerned about his father's car in the driveway. Because now, he could only think that somehow, someway, he had fucked up. By that, he meant school wise. It was the first thing to occur to him.

The adolescent male could have sworn he hadn't been letting his grades slip. And he hadn't really been called out today for sleeping in class. Had it been something else? What could it be?

"Tim?" he heard his dad call out for him.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he answered loudly as he changed his direction, heading towards the lion's den. All the while, he tried to come up with any and all reasons what was up with this. All he could come up with were school reasons, some of them becoming really bizarre. Were they unhappy that he hadn't tried out for football or something? Made a poor grade on a test? Started that food fight the other day? That last one was not his fault and he had ducked for cover when it first started.

Tim trudged into the living room, his backpack hanging off his shoulder by a single strap. The first thing he saw, other than the TV being off, were his mom and dad sitting on the couch. On the coffee table in front of him were a bunch of pamphlets, pictures taking up quite a bit of space on their covers. Mom and Dad were turned so that they were angled facing each other, though their heads were twisted around to face him. Both had neutral expressions, which meant that this had to be bad.

"Hey Tim, how was school?" Mom asked, giving him a smile.

"Same old, same old," he shrugged. "Is something wrong? Because no matter what anybody tells you, I did not start that food fight."

"You're not in any trouble, Tim," Dad stated. "Have a seat for a minute. We need to talk with you about something."

"'Kay…" he said slowly, slipping his backpack off and finding his way to a chair. He specifically picked out his dad's easy chair because the thing was too damn comfortable to not sit in. He spotted his dad raising any eyebrow at him, the corner of his lips quirking, but other than that, nothing.

"So if this isn't the third degree, what is it? I've got homework," he said, wanting to get this over with. Tim did his best not to squirm in his seat.

"Your dad and I have been talking about something for the past few days and we weren't sure how to talk to you about it," Mom began. Some of her curly brown hair fell over her shoulder, one of her hands placed in her lap while the other reached out and grasped his dad's larger one. She looked almost tiny sitting next to the bigger man but she didn't seem to look too fragile-looking. "It's something we wanted to be sure about, before we let you know."

"Know about what?" Tim pressed.

"Gotham has only been getting more and more dangerous lately," Dad picked up, shifting in his seat he leaned forward. He still looked a bit too different thanks to the mustache he had been growing recently. Looked like a completely different person. "I've been looking around and I've found a new position in a place that's much safer. However, it's far away so we'll be needing to move."

"Move?" the teen repeated, not really processing what he had just heard.

"Yes," Dad nodded, not a lock of combed black hair out of place. "I don't want anything happening to you or your mother. And since my job is in the city, there's a greater chance of something happening to me. I don't want that. Too much has happened in the last year and after what happened to Aunt Kathleen and now Harvey Dent, we need to be thinking of what's best for this family."

"But what about school? My friends!" Tim exclaimed. "I have a life here too!"

"We know that this is not going to be easy for you. It's like we're asking you to pick up and leave behind everything you've ever known," Mom said, trying to soothe his raging emotions. "It's not easy for us either. We too have lives here. It's...are our lives worth it to stay here or should we be protecting them? Your father and I agree that it would be best for all three of us to leave, even though everything we've ever known is here."

"There's still some time," Dad picked up. "You'll be able to take care of what you need to. By the end of the month, I'll have a new job secured and a new home bought. Do what you need to in the meantime."

"But...but Dad! Mom! Dad!" Tim felt like he was losing more and more control with every second. Like everything was slipping out of his control and he couldn't stop it. And he was failing at it, trying to stop it.

"It's going to be tough, but we Drakes can handle most of what comes our way. It's not a weakness to admit when we're in over our heads; it's better to know what our limits are and seek out new opportunities when they come our way," Dad tried to continue the whole soothing thing Mom had started. "Right now, we are in over our heads. That's okay. We—"

"But isn't that like giving up? Losing?" Tim interrupted, finally finding his voice. "It's like we're giving up because it's too tough! Can't we stay and fight? Why do we have to leave?"

"Sometimes, to win you have to lose. The world's weird like that," Dad answered. "Take some time to get used to the idea, Tim. We'll order something out tonight. Pizza sound good?"

What was with that bullshit about losing to win? And was he trying to bribe him with pizza? Abruptly, he stood up and stomped his way out of the living room and up the stairs, making as much noise as he could.

Because of that, he didn't hear his dad say, "He took that well."

* * *

Shrugging off the strap to her backpack, Harper tossed the bag onto the floor at the foot of her bed. Spinning around, she leaned backwards until she fell on top of the mattress, bouncing once before placing her hands behind her head, feet still on the floor do to her legs bending over the mattress' edge.

School had been boring, like, really boring. Yeah, yeah, she was one of those ridiculously smart people, but today's education system had long ago vowed to never leave a child behind, which meant standards were low enough to make sure everyone could pass. That left the ridiculously smart people usually bored out of their minds.

The curse of being a genius.

"Harper, in a hurry, much?" Cullen called out to her from the other room. They had both gotten off the bus at the same time, but her brother ended up lagging behind as she rushed back to their squalled sanctuary. They didn't exactly live in a good part of town, so the sooner they were behind locked doors, the better.

Cullen appeared in the doorway to her room, causing Harper to look towards him. "Let me guess, you're gonna try to get a power nap in before you head out tonight."

Harper shrugged her shoulders. That was sort of her plan. "Gotta make sure I'm well rested, ya know."

Her brother shook his purple-colored hair. His was a darker shade of purple to hers, making it appear black at times. They had both done their hair at the same time, a moment of quality sibling time. "This is dangerous stuff you're doing. I get wanting to experience life and all, but that's why they invented base jumping."

Harper yawned. "And that doesn't even come close to the thrill of the hunt, Cullen."

"That so? Then you better take better care of yourself, since you look like you ran your face against a cheese girder."

That caused the blue-haired girl to wince. Yeah, she had a rather ugly abrasion on her face, and there was also a nice bandage on top of it. That didn't take away from the fact she had accidentally hurt herself. "I'm a beginner, so what? All the other vigilantes didn't start perfect."

"None of them used homemade taser guns and grapples, either," Cullen countered.

"They still worked, didn't they? I did this to myself, not the meathead with the knife."

"So you're saying you're your worst enemy?"

That caused Harper to scowl. Yeah, her brother was worried; she had expected him to be as much. But did he really have to badger her every little step of the way? She was a fast learner and wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"Don't you have homework to do?" she snapped irritably at him.

It was Cullin's turn to scowl. He hadn't inherited the same brains as she had, so the fact she could come home without a sheet of homework to speak of was a bit of a sore spot for him. "Just promise me you'll take better care of yourself, alright? No one else will if you don't?"

This time she sighed. "Yeah, I promise. Now let me get some sleep? Nightfall isn't too far off."

"Unfortunately," she heard Cullen mutter just as he left her room.

So maybe that was a little unfair of her. Still, this wasn't a conversation she wanted to hear—again. She and Cullen had fought for a while about her hitting the streets in the outfit she had and the weapons she had made. While it was obvious where all the "money" had gone too, Cullen was a worrywart the size of Montana. She could've been dressed as a Medieval Knight and he still would've protested against her wishes. She couldn't hate him for it, but it did annoy her at times.

Still, he was right about her needing to take care of herself. She knew that, had known that from the moment she had scraped her face. But what Cullin didn't know was that rush she had felt. She still tingled from it, helping people. Deep down, Harper knew she was doing something right. That this was something she was made for.

She couldn't give it up.

* * *

"Tulips, check. Sunflowers, check. Roses...triple check."

Looking away from the inventory of flowers, Dinah made sure to make checkmarks next to all of the flowers and the alleged number of them on her sheet. Inventory was one of her least favorite duties, but it had to be done. Thankfully, this list was just for what was out on the shop floor. She shuddered to think of how much was in the backroom.

The price she paid to own and run a flower store.

It was just here today, but that was to be expected. Early mornings were dead periods with the occasional old lady that found her way in. At the very least, it gave Dinah a chance to rest and take power naps. Her night life wasn't quite conducive to a high-demanding job. It kinda made her wonder how Kate managed it.

The sound of a bell ringing caught the blonde woman's attention. Above the door was said bell and the only time it rang was when someone opened the door. Looking up from behind the counter, she saw a well-dressed man enter the store. Immediately her eyes darted to his shoes and she had to resist whistling. It was a cliché to be sure, but you could tell a lot about a person and the shoes they wore. A kid in sneakers might get a couple of roses for his high school girlfriend, a woman in heels might peruse and direct the man at her side to what she wanted, or a gentleman in fashionable dress shoes was looking for a bouquet to apologize for screwing up.

There was a swagger in the man's—make that a blond, handsome man—step, so he was clearly not looking for an apology bouquet. He was after something else. There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at her, approaching her with a carefree stride.

"How can I help you?" Dinah asked professionally and politely.

"I need to buy me some flowers, pretty lady," the man responded, a grin on his face as he came to a stop at the counter, resting his hands on it. "And I bet you know just what to get me."

"That depends entirely on what you want them for and who they're for."

"My mother," came his answer, "and perhaps you."

Oh, like she hadn't heard that one before. It was a popular refrain from guys that tried hitting on her and hadn't really worked. This time though, Dinah found herself not minding as much. "I think you can skip me, Sir. Now why your mother?"

"No reason, really. I needed a reason to come in and she seemed like the best excuse I could find."

Dinah raised an eyebrow at that. "No one at home?"

"No one that could tie me down." Again, the man flashed her a smile from behind his beard. "Oliver Queen, and you?"

That caused the blonde to blink owlishly. She had heard that name before. "Oliver Queen as in Queen Industries?"

Queen rapped his knuckles on the wooden counter, good humor on his face. "You got it in one go."

Dinah found herself raising a hand to brush some hair behind her ear. Despite the number of people she had seen in the story, this was the first time a legit billionaire had come through the doors. It was a shock to be sure. "Do you mind telling me why you're in town?"

"Business, usually. Plus there's this great party I've been invited to, thus my real reason for the flowers," Queen explained. "I need to make a good impression on the people I'm going to be seeing."

"Like a date?"

The blond man shook his head. "Alas, I am dateless—that is, unless you want to go?"

The corner of Dinah's mouth twitched up. She couldn't fault the guy for trying, that was for sure. She was even considering accepting the invite. "Depends if it's worth my while," she said coyly.

"How does dinner and dancing sound to you? I have to admit, I am pretty good on my feet," Queen pressed, leaning towards her.

Maybe it was because she hadn't really done anything for fun in awhile. Maybe she couldn't think of a decent reason to say no. Whatever the reason, Dinah found herself not making an excuse to say no, which is way she said, "Sure, why not? When is this party of yours?"

"Tonight with a bunch of stiffs, but I promise to make everything else the best night of your life." Oliver then reached to a stand of flowers, plucking up rose. He then held it to her, the petals hovering just beneath her nose, allowing the blonde woman to breathe in its scent. "I'll pick you up at 7."

What a charmer.

* * *

Running Arkham Asylum had never been an easy job, especially for a man who had trained to be a psychiatrist. Administration had been something Jeremiah Arkham had had to pick up on the fly and ever since then he had been overwhelmed.

All he had wanted to do was be a doctor. Had that ever been too much to ask? To be able to treat people with serious mental conditions, cure them, and then watch as they returned to society to live long, wholesome lives. That was what he had wanted.

Jeremiah was still able to have some patients to treat. That had been one mercy afforded to him. When he wasn't doing therapy or running psychological assessments, he was having to do budgeting and ordering and grants and staff management and...just one thing after another!

Then his asylum had become the go to destination for the city's criminals. He had to up security, change how the asylum was run to compensate for the sudden influx of new patients that it had not been ready for. Where once they always had space for one more person, now they had a waiting list on top of being overcrowded.

Jeremiah knew who to blame for this though. He knew who the son of a bitch who was responsible for it and that was why he was meeting with the bastard's doctor.

It was more than time for them to get Hugo Strange out of the asylum, for good.

"Tell me, Dr. Quinzel, what is your current impression about Strange?" With only his desk between him and the young psychiatrist, Jeremiah never took his eyes off the latest addition to Arkham's staff.

Her full name was Harleen Quinzel and by her appearance, you would never expect to see someone like her in a place like this. She was very attractive with long blonde hair styled in such a way that it appeared short, and these stunning blue eyes that could have belonged to a poker player from what few tells they gave. She held herself very professional, and when she spoke it was always in a straightforward, no-nonsense tone of voice.

By her records, she was in the top ten percent of her class, both for her master's and doctorate. From what Jeremiah had read of her thesis, it could use some work. Of course, research wasn't for everybody. She was a definite people person, someone who applied her knowledge rather than seeking it out. He was impressed with her during the interview for her employment here. Really, she could have written her ticket anywhere she wanted.

So why would she choose Arkham of all places to do her internship in?

Dr. Quinzel took a moment to clear her voice before she began to speak. "I have been interviewing and assessing Professor Strange since he first arrived here. At this point in time, I doubt I would be able to tell you what you want to hear, Dr. Arkham. That being that he is sane and competent to go to trial. I will need more time to further assess him."

Jeremiah frowned at this. Indirectly, she was right, this was not what he wanted to hear. "What assessments have you used?"

"Based on his prior experience with said assessment tools, I would have doubts about trusting any results I could obtain from them," Dr. Quinzel told him frankly. "I do not believe that it is beyond him to manipulate those results to have a favorable outcome, for him at least. He knows how these instruments work and what data he needs to give to obtain the conclusion he wants."

Damn it, she was right about that too. It was obvious, especially since Strange himself had administered countless assessments before, in this very institution no less. He knew what questions would be asked and how he needed to answer them in order to get a result that stated he had mental illness. To get him out of here was turning out to be a monumental challenge.

"So what is your plan? How can we prove that this man is malingering?" he asked out loud, taking off his glasses so that he could rub his temples easier. This matter could get him a headache without trying.

"By the only other available means I have. Sessions with talk therapy. Recorded, of course," the young psychiatrist answered without missing a beat. "The more confident he becomes in his act, the more likely he'll slip up. It'll be a small detail, something that most people would miss and a man of his ego won't notice making. That will take time, a lot of patience, and I am perfectly aware that we have neither of those."

As inexperienced as she was, she was hitting it out of the park with all these observations. The justice system could only accept so much time before it forced the issue. This was going to be a matter that if Jeremiah wanted Strange out, he'd need to cooperate with other forces, probably law enforcement and the DA's office to convince the judge that this was a delicate operation that could not be rushed.

This could take years to do.

And Jeremiah found that he was the one running out of patience.

"I suppose that's the best we have," he sighed as he put his glasses back on. "You seem to be on top of things, Harleen. Be careful. I know more than most people how manipulative Strange can be. And he can convince you that his way is the better way. To make sure he isn't scamming us, you'll need to debrief after every session so that you can remain objective. You're dealing with someone who knows our craft better than the both of us combined."

"I understand and thank you for allowing me the opportunity to work on this case," Dr. Quinzel told him.

"Just be careful. Who knows what he's planning as we speak?" Jeremiah warned.

* * *

Hugo Strange whistled a jaunty tune, reclined on his bed with a book in hand. He had forgotten where he had heard it, but right now he was in the mood to whistle it.

For the past ten months, he had been languishing here in this former place of employment, not as an employee but as a guest. That's not to say it was boring, since there were a growing cast of colorful characters that had begun to call this place home. He had found quite a few prospects in which he could have long, in-depth discussions with.

They were the kind of discussions that were by their nature investments. Whether they would pay out in the future by creating yet another problem the Batman had to deal with was anyone's guess.

Speaking of which, Strange could not have been any prouder. The situation in Gotham had devolved into something beyond his wildest expectations. Harvey Dent had proven to be the pawn he had been looking for for so long, and he was really giving it to the bat-themed vigilante. What was really surprising was that Dent, or as he was calling himself now Two-face, had lasted ten months at large and was no closer to being caught. Anarchy and murder were becoming staples of the day, Two-face's unpredictability in his crimes were proving to be too much for his pursuers, and it would only be a matter of time until the city could take no more.

It would be his greatest triumph. A threat that not even Batman could defeat. Proof for all the world to see that it was he, Professor Hugo Strange, who had the superior mind. The thought of that made a chuckle slip out of his mouth as he turned a page.

It wasn't in his nature to remain idle while a scheme of his played out. Free time was time to improve upon one's self. Of the plans he had been involved with, chemistry had proven to play enormous roles. Chemistry was one of those areas that Strange found he was lacking in. Yes, he knew about pharmacology, and how medications influenced the brain, but to actually be able to create something for himself, something that would truly set him apart from all the other rogues in this city?

It was a crime in and of itself that he had to be reliant on others for his chemical needs. His stay in Arkham would be productive. In fact, the book with which he was reading was a textbook of the basics of chemistry. Some of it was familiar, the pharmacological aspects already known to him. It was the other information that was important for him.

He tired of having to rely on others to fulfill his goals. While the colleagues he had consulted with were far from being competent, in fact they were some of the greatest minds in their fields; the fact he had to outsource was infuriating. Professor Hugo Strange was the superior mind, there was no reason for him to submit to others.

If his colleagues were capable of devising a fear toxin and perfecting a mutagen capable of transforming those who took it into Man-bats, he should be capable of nothing less. What would he devise? Hmm. Oh the possibilities.

Strange took a pause from his studies, listening to the sounds of approaching footsteps. Based on the quality of the sounds, amplified by the acoustics of the asylum, how fast the steps were moving, and the uniqueness of the heels meeting the floor, he knew it wasn't the orderlies. Not the janitors either. And certainly none of the patients. The doctors, then, and...those were high heels.

Quinzel.

Peering over the top of his textbook, Strange waited and watched through the wall of glass as the intern walked into view, passing by. Beside her was none other than Jeremiah. Neither spared him a glance, or any of the other patients for that matter. He focused his eyes on Jeremiah, the pawn that thought he was a knight, if not a bishop, a rook at best. He truly believed that he had escaped his influence, that he was immune to it.

Amusing. However, he had underestimated him this time. Jeremiah, he knew, had intentionally assigned Quinzel as his therapist because he knew it would irritate him. It wasn't that she was a woman, per se, but that she was so inexperienced. Her youth, her belief in herself, the amount of times where she sounded like she thought she knew everything, it grated on him.

Oh, but Jeremiah, Jeremiah, Jeremiah. Don't think that just because you've locked yourself away in your office that you were safe from him. Far from it. Strange had always had plan upon plan stowed away for special occasions, or a rainy day.

And hearing about the state of Gotham, Strange would say that it was flooded.

He still had an ace or two up his sleeve. Oh yes. Even trapped here, he was far from helpless.

Let them all think he was done for. When they felt their safest, that's when he would strike. When they believed that the worst had past, he would show it was but the calm before the storm.

They would all know that he, Professor Hugo Strange, was truly the superior mind.


	5. New Players in the Game

New Players in the Game

Montoya was in the breakroom when Sarah showed up. She had been enjoying a cup of instant coffee, her only company Bullock who was in the middle of scarfing down the last of that morning's donuts. She could see the bits of dried glaze around his mouth, which had turned her enjoyment of the finest instant coffee into disgust.

So the lieutenant showing up was a godsend at the moment.

"I've got the clear," Sarah announced to them. "The task force is confirmed."

Just as Montoya was opening her mouth to offer congratulations, Bullock beat her to it, though it was hard to tell what he was saying because of the mashed donut still in his mouth.

"Swallow first, Harvey. Then speak," Sarah suggested, her face showing nothing though the way she hid her mouth from sight with one of her hands was telling.

Montoya took the opportunity presented to her. "Congratulations. So when do we start?"

"Right now. I have the others doing odd tasks, gathering information, which will be brought together later today when I convene the task force. In the meantime, I need the two of you to come with me," Sarah explained.

"Where to?" the Hispanic detective asked.

"Not where, but who. And that who is the safest person in the city," Sarah replied as she turned on her heel. "I'll explain on the way. We're wasting daylight as it is."

By then, Harvey had finished swallowing his donut, and though his mouth was filthy, it didn't stop her from sharing a questioning look with him.

With Gotham as it was now, who could possibly be the safest person in it?

* * *

Sunlight was the only light that lit up the room. Some would say that keeping your windows open in Gotham was risky, as you never knew whose prying eyes were watching. It was much safer to have the curtains closed, blocking all visibility to the outside world.

He kept them opened as a challenge, a dare to those who would defy him.

Times had been tough for everyone. A crime family was asserting its dominance over the criminal underworld, and those who resisted were permanently retired. On top of that, a would-be hero was trying to make all that much harder on them. Who did they go to if they wanted protection from a bat-themed vigilante? Who could shield them from a two-faced freak who was destroying their way of life?

The answer would be him. Needed a name? Not yet. When he was ready, everyone would know. Until then, he would remain here, in the shadows, planning his moves until he was ready.

From an armchair tucked in the room's natural shadows, he reclined back, idly gazing at the four suited men who held his attention at the moment. There was nothing much about them that stood out, obvious cannon fodder. Sure, one was taller than the others, another short, one skinny as a rail with buck teeth, and an ordinary guy who had a wisp of a mustache on his upper lip. All forgettable, really.

Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. What they lacked in memorability, they made up for in their skills. Like the mustache guy trying to be suave? Fast talker, street smart, and the kind of guy you wanted at deals to do your talking for you. Short guy? Best fighter of the bunch with a nasty right hook. Tall guy? A sniper who happened to be good at poker. Thin guy with the teeth problem? Expert safecracker, knew how to get into places people didn't want you in.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I know you've all been having a hard time lately," he welcomed them.

"Yeah? Tell us something we don't know," suave man with the mustache retorted.

"Let me finish. We haven't gotten to the good part yet," he told the interrupter patiently, though his voice held an element of steel in it. He took a moment to stare him down before continuing, "It's been tough for me too. Makes me a little _mad_. And when I get mad, instead of lying around, waiting for things to change, I do something about it. I have a plan, something to upset everything. Anybody involved is going to be put on top. So who wants in?"

"You're not going to tell us what this plan of yours is?" suave mustache man demanded.

"The less you know, the easier it will be to protect it. It's still too early in the game," he answered. He leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows on the armrests and intertwining his hands in front of his mouth. The motion brought his head enough into the light that the four men could get a good look at him, and even from here, he could see their eyes widen.

"Say, aren't you—" the short one began to speak.

"Indeed I am. Which tells you that I am as good as my word. You know what I am capable of. So? Are you in or out?"

The four men shared uneasy looks. They were being cautious. Nice to know they could think for themselves, but thinkers weren't what he was looking for. He needed people who would follow orders and get the job done. If he wanted thinkers, he'd get thinkers.

"What do we got to lose? I'm in," Shorty said, shrugging his shoulders.

Both the tall one and the thin guy with the teeth nodded their heads. Hmm, maybe he had thought too soon. Those were two who were followers, and they would do as told. The short one he'd have to keep an eye on. That was three, as far as he was counting. That left one and he wasn't liking the hesitation there.

"What about you? What to join up?" He spoke with a friendly tone, but he was more than prepared to make an example out of this guy if he needed to.

"Yeah, sure, I got nothing else better to do," mustache guy said at last, trying to play it off casually, like it was no big deal.

"Good," he said neutrally, nodding his head. "We got a lot to take care of and a short amount of time to do it. So fuck ups will not be tolerated. You all get one chance and if you mess up, you won't like what happens next.

"Now, I want you," he fingered out Shorty, "and you," now suave mustache guy, "to do a job for me. I have a deal going down at the quarry twenty miles west of town. I'm buying some...sensitive materials. Expensive. Not the kind of stuff you can find through normal means. Everything's set up, all you need to do is be there to exchange the cash and get the goods."

"I think we can handle it," suave mustache guy replied, sounding confident. Was even giving a bit of a smirk. Hmm, he was going to have to learn what that guy's name was, wasn't he? "So what is it? Drugs?"

"Something with a name you can't pronounce and there's more than one of them." From his pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper. "The sellers know the names, this here is how you're going to check to make sure they aren't ripping me off. Don't think I'll be sending you alone either. Some of my boys will go with you, serve as protection. And, I'm sending in this guy."

He turned his head and nodded to a person standing a few feet beside him. Taking his cue, he stepped out in front of the group of men. Even the tall guy was nothing to this new player, who towered over all of them. He wore a trenchcoat over his broad form, your standard pants and a pair of shoes from a designer none of them probably ever heard of peeking out from the bottom.

A fedora hat was placed on top of his head, shadowing his face so that it was hard to tell what he looked like. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his trenchcoat, but that did nothing to shrink his large frame.

"This here is Mr. Jones," he introduced. "He'll be tagging along as extra muscle as well as my eyes and ears. He'll be making sure you two are fit for my outfit. You impress him, you impress me, and you'll go far. If he tells you to do something, you do it. Understand?"

Shorty nodded, but suave mustache guy was grimacing. "Don't you trust us? I'm sure we can handle this."

"You heard the man," Mr. Jones barked. "If he says I'm coming along, I'm coming along. You got a problem, well, we'll have to fix that, won't we?" As he spoke, the mysterious Mr. Jones stalked his way towards his prey. As he said his last two words, he tipped back his hat and gave the mustached man a good look at his face. As expected, the schmuck looked horrified and quickly gave in. "Good. That's what I like to hear."

"That's what I like to see. Cooperation," he chuckled. "Now, I recommend you leave as soon as possible. Prep our little meeting spot just in case someone in a cape comes snooping around, as unlikely as it is anyone would be that far from the city at that time. We're about to declare war so it's best we starting treating it like it was one.

"So boys, don't fail me."

* * *

With an exhale of air, Two-face allowed himself to slump in his seat. It was time for some alone time, time away from the men, the runnings of a criminal organization, and an opportunity to rest.

Half of him disagreed with it, demanding he be out there, keeping an eye on those people, making sure they weren't double-crossing him. The other half wanted to be away from them, to distance himself and huddle away. That latter half won the coin toss.

In this moment of weakness, whatever remained of Harvey Dent was able to hold control. That remnant was able to reflect, to curse what chance had brought on him, and then despair. Removing his wallet from his back pocket, he opened the billfold and slipped out a picture.

With both eyes, he gazed at the still life image, all conflicted parts of him in agreement as he stared longingly. This is what he did in a fit of melancholy, and it served to only deepen the depression instead of relieve it.

A picture of Gilda always did that.

It had been so long since he had last seen her. Perhaps he would never see her again. He couldn't bear for her to see him like this, what he had become. All her memories should be of the good times, the times when they had laughed, when she had thoroughly beaten him in round upon round of golf, sharing their lives, knowing nothing would tear them apart.

It was almost torture to do this, but it was one he was willing to do. He could almost see her face, the expression of horror written on it should she get a good look at him. He couldn't do that to her. She must never…

He had to remind himself to be careful with his grip on the photo. He couldn't risk disfiguring this perfect image, the only thing he had of his former life that he hadn't twisted or destroyed.

A knock on the door interrupted his reminiscence, and Harvey Dent made way for his more dominant self to take over once more. Robotically, he put the photo back into his wallet as either Min or Max spoke, "Hey Two-face? There's this guy who wants to see you. Says he has information that you're going to want to hear."

That was what was interrupting him? Should he take the time to hear what this guy had to say or kill him for having the balls to demand his time? The disfigured crime boss gave a flip of his coin and observed the Good Heads that stared right back at him.

"I'll be out in a minute. Keep him here," he ordered as he stood up, stuffing his wallet back into his back pocket. He adjusted his suit, tamed any wrinkle he found, then marched out of his private quarters, slamming the doors shut behind him as he made his way down the hallway.

With quick strides, he reached an area of the building where his men spent most of their time lounging and bragging about themselves, and it was here where the former district attorney met anybody who wanted to speak with him. The presence of a large number of large, muscular men tended to make people careful with what they did or said.

He announced himself by shoving open a set of double doors, ignoring any looks directed towards him. He did a quick scan of the place, spotting Min and Max at their posts staring down some guy in a trenchcoat. Off in a corner was Doubleday who was running the numbers from today. All around various members of the Two Ton Gang rested about, shooting looks at their visitor and naturally letting themselves be intimidating.

It was this newcomer who had his attention and he took up his position in between Min and Max, glaring down at the man.

"This him?" he grunted as he pulled out his coin, idly flipping it.

"Yep, that's him," Max confirmed. "Said he had something he needed to tell you."

"That right?" A rhetorical question for which he expected no answer. The next question he asked was one he did expect an answer for. "He tell you what it was?"

"Said he only wanted to speak with you," Min answered, shrugging his shoulders. "He mentioned something about something big happening and that you might want to know about it."

Two-face grunted. The man whom he had never taken his eyes off of was beginning to squirm a bit. They all tended to do that when he stared at them. He knew exactly why too; no one could stand the face for too long. Disfigurement tended to do that.

"Alright, whoever you are. What's so big that you think I would want to know about it?" The room was silent now, all attention on this guy. What he had to say better be good.

"I don't know all the details," the man said, "but I know the man that does and he wanted to set up a meet with you. That's why I'm here."

"Oh? And here I was expecting to be told something worth my while. Instead, I get a messenger from the guy who wants to talk with me." Stalking over to the newcomer as he spoke, Two-face leaned his face closer to the messenger. "Surely this guy told you more than just he knows about something big. This isn't the place where people come in, demanding my time, and expecting I'll fall over myself to please them. No, you're here to please me because if I'm not, the odds of you leaving in one piece go down."

The messenger swallowed but held his ground. Some nerves of steel, hmm? "Have you ever heard of Tony Zucco? He's the guy who sent me. Told me to tell you that there's someone trying to muscle in on you and that if you wanted more details, you'd set up a meet to discuss it."

"That right?" Two-face ignored the nodding of the guy's head because, again, he wasn't expecting an answer. "So there's someone in the city who thinks he can take me. Right. And I'm the Easter Bunny. If Zucco is so sure about this, why not come and tell me himself? Why organize a meet to tell me something that I could hear about right here?"

"He only told me that he wanted to be careful. You never know who could be watching," the messenger said. "He seemed more worried about this other outfit more than anyone else."

"Someone like that ought to be close to it then," Two-face replied as he pulled back about a foot, giving the man some breathing room. That was physically speaking, not metaphorically. "He is so close that he found out too much? Is he afraid? Why come to me about it?"

"Because nobody messes with you, sir," the messenger replied. Some chuckles echoed through the room, the men voicing their agreement with that sentiment.

"Obviously not," Two-face countered. "There's an outfit out there that's willing to take me on, is that not what you've been telling me? You're going to have to give me more than what you have because I am not buying this."

"He did mention a name."

Two-face narrowed his left eye. "And you didn't think to mention that before why? Don't answer that. Give me the name."

The man glanced from side to side before he began to lean closer to the crime lord. Interesting. Two-face reciprocated, turning his head so that his left was closer to this messenger boy. The man whispered the name, and his left eye widened marginally before it narrowed.

He hadn't expected to hear that one. This might be worth his time after all.

"There's a parking garage over by the residential sector of the city. We'll meet there," he said after a moment. Reaching out, he grabbed Zucco's messenger and made sure the guy didn't leave. "Call him from here. You'll be coming with us. I am not going to be walking into any trap and if I am, you'll be the first one I plug with lead. Understand?"

"You sure about this, Two-face?" Min asked, piping up and butting in with his unwanted question.

"I said so, didn't I?" he retorted turning his head so that his good side was only visible to the twin. "Do you think you know better than me?"

"No sir!" Min said hastily, holding his hands up in defense. "But you said it yourself, it could be a trap."

"Which is why we'll be ready for one if it is," Two-face replied, turning back to the messenger. "For your sake, it better not be."

* * *

Sarah gazed sympathetically at the other woman, wanting to comfort her but holding back because she needed to remain objective right now. The woman in question was sniffling, holding a picture frame in her hand.

"I know this is difficult," the female lieutenant said soothingly. "I doubt there's been any person in the whole city that has suffered like you have. Right now, we all need you. I need your help more than anyone else, Gilda."

Gilda Dent, the wife of Harvey Dent, now Two-face. She was a link to the past, one that could possibly be used as some kind of psychological leverage against Gotham's latest nightmare. People had trouble cutting themselves off from their pasts. Only a unique few were able to do such a thing, and to do it cleanly.

Sarah was banking on that. There was no way that Dent hadn't kept tabs on his wife. She was an attachment, and if the former DA followed the pattern of all other mobsters, you protected your attachments.

Gilda touched the glass that separated her skin from the photo, her finger stroking a specific area. Sarah had caught a glimpse of the image, had seen a picture of a newlywed couple still in their wedding dress and suits. It was the woman before her and Harvey, the two looking so happy in better times. Gilda's finger was pressed beside Harvey's head, an intimate gesture.

"What could I do?" Gilda nearly sobbed. "I'm the one who caused all this. If I hadn't had sent him to that man, none of this would be happening."

Not even a twitch disturbed Sarah's look of empathy. She knew of whom the distraught woman spoke of. The mad shrink Hugo Strange, who had masqueraded as the psychiatrist Victor Erie, and whom Harvey had sought out help. Based on the records that lunatic had kept, it hadn't taken long to put two and two together to know that Strange had done anything but help.

And Gilda was carrying the guilt from it.

"There was no way for you to know. For any of us to have known," the lieutenant told the other woman. "We can't change what we've done in the past, but we can still change our future. Please Gilda. We need your help."

"But he hasn't called or visited or e-mailed me, or anything!" Gilda exclaimed, looking away from the wedding picture. "He's kept away, and now I'm all alone. I...I miss him so much."

"We all do," she agreed. "Harvey's touched a lot of lives. He's helped so many people. If we are to stand up for what he believed, if we are to help him, we have to use any means we can to bring him in. I hate to put you in this position, Gilda, but I don't have any choice."

"I know. It doesn't make this any easier," Gilda said.

Sarah looked away the moment Gilda looked back down at the photo, seeking out Montoya and Bullock. Montoya was stealthily searching the place, casually moving about the living room, looking at pictures hanging from the wall, and keeping her eyes peeled for any and everything thing. Bullock had kept to one place, looking very uncomfortable, and mercifully staying quiet. He kept his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

That was probably for the best. Gilda did not need Bullock's brand of "comforting."

"Listen, Gilda," Sarah began, "what I'm about to ask you may upset you, but I need you to do something for me. If for whatever reason Harvey contacts you, I need you to contact me. Immediately. With your permission, I would like to also put a wiretap on your phone so that in the chance he does make contact, we can trace him."

Gilda was staring at her, incomprehension painting her face.

"The sooner we can find him and bring him in, the faster we can end this nightmare," she told the other woman as gently as she could. "We're desperate Gilda. This whole situation is desperate. As much as I don't want to do it this way, we're running out of options. So please, work with us. Work with us to save your husband."

"But what can I do? I've been helpless and...and what can someone like me do?" It was way obvious that Gilda was distressed and it seemed like her own self-confidence had also fallen victim to recent events.

And how could it not? By her own admission, she had recommended Harvey go to a man who did not have good intentions. The guilt from that alone must be crushing her. Sarah, however, didn't have the time to try and hold Gilda's hand through this. Maybe later, but now was not the time.

"You're stronger than you think, Gilda. You've managed this long and hopefully it won't be much longer. Ok the tap, keep us up to date if anything happens or changes. Tell us about anything that's suspicious. Keep us in the know, and we'll handle the rest." It was a boiler plate of instructions, nothing too complicated.

Sarah could see Gilda chewing on her lip, probably going over the lieutenant's words in her head.

When she next spoke, Sarah did not expect to hear what was said. "I don't know if this is suspicious, but I have been receiving envelopes in the mail. They're thick, they have no return address, and when I opened one, I found money in it."

Sarah blinked. Then she shot looks over to Montoya and Bullock. Both looked as surprised as she felt. "Could you show us these envelopes?" she asked carefully.

Moments later, Gilda returned with an armful of the reported envelopes. Only one had been opened so far, and with a handkerchief provided by Montoya, Sarah peered into the opened envelope where lo and behold, there was indeed money. Two stacks of them to be precise and very thick. Just by looking at it, she guessed there was at least fifty thousand in this one alone.

If all of these envelopes were also packed with cash, the question was who was the one sending them. A thought occurred to her, and the more she looked into it, the more logical in sounded. After all, the recipient was Gilda Dent. And who would send her any sum of money without a return address? One thing she needed to check, though.

"How long have you been getting these? Have they all shown up in the last ten months?" she asked.

"I think the first one showed up about four months ago," Gilda answered hesitantly.

Which was still within the ten month time frame. Oh, her hunch was growing stronger and stronger by the minute.

"Is there something on your mind, lieutenant?" Bullock's voice cut into her train of thought. There was an unspoken demand in his voice that wasn't voiced but all too easily heard.

"I think these may be very important, especially if I'm correct about who might be sending these," Sarah stated.

Gilda's eyes widened, catching on. "You don't think…?

"There's a good chance Harvey might be the one sending these," Sarah replied. "If that's the case, it means that he's still in there and he still cares for you. I would like to bring these in, have forensics take a look at them. They might provide us with a clue to where he's hiding."

"There's more than these," Gilda told her, nodding her head. "I've only touched the outside...I don't know what that means or if it is helpful…"

"Next time you receive one in the mail, don't touch it. Instead, contact me," the lieutenant instructed, reaching out and placing a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "We'll take what we can here. In the meantime, here's my card." She pulled out a small business card and handed it over. "That has all my contact information. You can leave a message if I'm unable to answer. Thank you Gilda. Thank you for taking the time to talk with us and to help us. Hang in there and I promise you, somehow, someway, I will bring you your husband back."

Tears were glistening in her eyes as Gilda nodded. "Please. Just...just bring him home."

"That's what I'm planning to do." It was a promise between women, but Sarah was holding back. There was a distinct possibility that Harvey—Two-face—wouldn't go quietly, and might be killed in the process. This was not something that Gilda needed to hear right now. She needed optimism, she needed assurance.

Sarah was willing to do all that. Anything it took to this nightmare.

* * *

Oracle had given them a heads up to head over to the west side of town. According to her, there were some odd traffic in the area, centered around a parking garage. Now, she admitted she could be paranoid by this, but she wanted it checked out anyway, just to be sure.

It was a good thing for her that Robin and himself were people pleasers.

What made up odd traffic was anyone's guess. Nightwing supposed that since their resident computer hacker was constantly monitoring the streets, she would know what "odd" meant. The worst that this little errand would do was waste some time.

The two vigilantes set up post on the building opposite the street of their target. Both pulled out small binoculars and began scanning each and every floor, looking for anything that stood out. Because of what time it was, that being late, the garage barely had any cars in it. Very empty with a car here, followed by a large amount of space, until you met up with another car.

"See anything?" Nightwing asked as he finished up with the top floor.

"Nothing yet," Robin answered. "The angle's shitty. Might need to get in close."

Nightwing eyed his younger partner for a second, mulling over the idea. He had heard about Robin's parents' plans to leave the city. The teen was not happy about it since that meant he would have to leave too. He wanted to stay, finish up the fight that the city's newest mob boss had brought on it.

He understood where he was coming from. He himself didn't like leaving things unfinished. The situation they now found themselves in, they were there when it started and to not see it to its end? Yeah, it sucked.

At the same time, perhaps that was what was best. The city was more dangerous now than ever. Maybe...maybe Robin ought to think about putting up his cape and mask and retiring from being a vigilante. Have a fresh start who knew where? If he could do it, he would have done it a long time ago. It was different for him now, and it could be different for Robin.

That was a talk for another time, though. They had business here.

The older vigilante eyeballed the distance between himself, the parking garage, and the openings along the sides of the garage. The dim lighting within wasn't the best, just enough for someone inside to see their way around, not for any kind of spying like they were doing. If they wanted a better picture, they were going to have to get over there.

"Hold up! Down there," Robin exclaimed. Nightwing spared the costumed teen a glance then followed the direction the younger vigilante had angled his binoculars. Down on the streets, pulling into the parking garage was a caravan of four, maybe five cars. All were dark in color, but one in particular stood out.

The car itself was stretched, in particular it's engine. The cab where people rode, or drove, was more towards the back. It was like something from the 1940s. The color, though was half and half, half white and half black. And no, it wasn't like some sort of design that incorporated the two colors evenly. It was split from front to back with literally one half of the car in white and the other black.

Thanks to the reports that Barbara had told him, he knew that that car was Two-face's. The big man himself was showing up.

Looks like that paranoia was paying off.

"We need to get over there," he declared, lowering his binoculars while pulling out a grapple.

"But we don't know where in there they're gonna stop," Robin pointed out.

"My money's on the second floor from the top. Too much exposure on the roof, and no one can hear you from that high up," Nightwing replied as he fired the grapple. "If I'm wrong, I can lower myself down. You stay put."

"Aw hell," Robin swore as Nightwing swung across the street, angling his feet so that they bore the brunt of the shock as he came to a stop against the side of the parking garage. He was never going to get tired from the rush of air that flew by him, a reminder of happier times. Nostalgia would have to wait, he needed to see if his theory would pan out.

Keeping out of sight, Nightwing approached an opening in the garage and peeked his head from a side. So far nothing except for a small group of cars parked in a corner. Hadn't seen that earlier. Okay, so maybe he had been wrong—hold on a minute.

The train of cars were pulling up onto this floor, coming to a stop a safe distance from the other group of cars. Yep, there was Two-face's car. Hmm, with something as garishly designed as that car, you'd think it would be easy to track it. Maybe this crime lord had an ace or two up his sleeve.

Rumbling engines came to a stop, though one car remained on long enough to flash its lights twice, the signal that a deal was on. From the first grouping of cars, suited men began to slip out. Simultaneously, Two-face and his men also came pouring out of their cars.

Into his earpiece, he hissed, "I'm right on the money. This is big, Two-face is here. I repeat, Two-face is fucking here."

" _You can't be serious. Okay, I know you're serious_ ," Robin answered.

"You saw his car too, don't pretend you didn't," Nightwing retorted.

" _I'm coming over there. I'll—_ "

"Stay put. We don't want to risk alerting them that they're being watched," he hissed back. "Get the word back to Oracle. Get her to send in backup."

He cut himself off quickly as he saw the two groups of gangsters come to a stop mere feet away from one another. There was quite a distance between the two groups, but both were far away enough that it would be tough to hear them. Good thing he himself had an ace up his sleeve. Or his fingertips as the case was.

Thanks to Barbara's ingenuity, as well as some creativity with their gear, she had miraculously managed to put listening devices into their gloves, specifically in their fingertips. Some trial and error was needed to perfect them so they wouldn't break from, let's say, punching a guy's face, and their range was about a hundred feet. Not too far, but enough that you could use cover.

That meant he would have to hold on to his grapple with one hand while holding out the other. Barbara better be recording this in case he missed anything. He pressed his thumb in a spot between his middle and ring finger, a sudden hiss shooting through his earpiece unexpectedly. Hadn't expected that-

"— _all the way out here, this better be good,_ " the almost throaty vocals of Two-face suddenly sounded through his earpiece. It caused the young adult to jerk in surprise then swear in his head. He should be used to this by now; once the listening devices were activated, they used the frequency in their radios to transmit.

" _This will be worth your time, Two-face_ ," a second voice spoke, one that made Nightwing frown. Something about it was...familiar…

" _Your man here says you have some dirt, something about someone wanting in on my turf. Any truth to that?"_ Two-face seemed to ask casually, though it was obvious it was a demand.

" _It's true. I even received an invitation from him to join,"_ the second man confirmed. _"Had a boy of mine check it out. Came back with a story. I didn't believe it at first, then I found out who it was and I knew that things were about to get bad. Not bad as they are now, but really, really bad."_

" _And what made you decide to come to me? It's all a bit suspicious,"_ Two-face stated. _"What's your angle, Zucco?"_

Nightwing's eyes widened at that name. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be the guy he was thinking of. That bastard was in prison, rotting. This had to be like a brother or a cousin or something.

"Robin," he spoke softly, hoping that he didn't need to be touching his earpiece to be heard by his partner. He didn't want to risk losing a second of this clandestine meeting and his other arms was getting a bit tired. "Can you see in there? Do you see some of these guys' faces?"

A few seconds passed where he got nothing. Then " _Hold on a sec…"_ He waited with almost bated breath for the next reply. " _Okay, I got a better look at them. Two-face and his men have their backs to me."_

"What about the others?" he grunted.

" _Kinda being blocked out. I think...I think I can make out of them. He's that guy that's talking. That Zucco guy."_

"What's he look like?" Nightwing asked, though he almost sounded like he was demanding, not unlike the disfigured crime lord in there.

" _He's got black hair. Can't tell the eyes but he has some wrinkles under them. A bunch on his forehead. Doesn't look like some aging mobster so I'm thinking maybe late forties? Early fifties? I'm gonna try and focus these things. Whoa, he's got something in his teeth. Too close."_

The older vigilante rolled his eyes. "Focus Robin," he ordered. "What else can you tell me?"

" _Nothing other than that,"_ Robin answered apologetically. _"Oh wait. Looks like blue eyes, I think?"_

That was a great help, truly. Sarcasm aside, he was going to need to get a better look at this Zucco guy. Maybe showing Robin a picture later would help.

"— _he's got something planned for tonight. Happening down at the quarry._ " Oh crap, he had been too focused on this guy that he hadn't been paying attention to this get-together. The young man was going to have to work on his listening skills, it seems. _"There's gonna be a lot of money there and it's for stuff that I can't even pronounce the names to. It freaks me out."_

" _Let me guess, you're hoping I check it out,"_ Two-face replied. There was this weird noise, like something flipping through the air. _"Sorry. Not interested. Whatever's up, it has nothing to do with me."_

" _You...you can't be serious! This is...this is some serious shit that's happening!"_ Zucco exclaimed. _"You can't tell me you aren't curious!"_

" _I'm not,"_ Two-face stated. That weird flipping sound again. _"But my men are. Some of them will go over there and check it out. See if I need to be worried."_

" _Okay, there's movement,"_ Robin reported.

Like he couldn't tell for himself. One of the car's engines were starting.

" _Now, Zucco, if you have nothing else for me, I'm leaving. If you have something else for me, spit it out."_

" _I got a man in there,"_ Zucco blurted out. _"I'm not stupid, Two-face. I knew that if I were to get in with you, I'd need something you'd be interested in. I let one of my boys join up and he's funneling info to me twenty-four-seven. As soon as he knows something, I know, and I know you're going to want to know what he's planning. Get a step ahead of him and all."_

There was that flipping noise again. _"Alright, Zucco. That's something I want to hear. Tell me more about your inside man and it better be good. Otherwise, this is the last circus act you crash. What? Surprised I knew about that? Soon as I heard your name, I did a little research on you. I know what you did, what sent you to prison. I bet there'd be a bunch of people pissed off that Tony Zucco's out of the clink and back on the streets again."_

Nightwing's blood froze. No. No way. That...it couldn't… There was an alarm blaring in his head but he had to ignore it. This...this was more important. It had to be more important.

So why was his arm lowering? And his grip loosening—!

He brought his outstretched arm up to grip his grapple tightly. He had almost let go out of shock and fallen a few stories down to his bloody end.

" _Nightwing!_ " Robin exclaimed. " _You alright? What happened?!"_

Ignoring the concern, he pressed the retract button and allowed himself to be pulled towards the roof of the garage. Once the ledge was in reach, he grabbed onto it and pulled himself up and over. Now safe, he allowed the adrenaline in his system to slowly ebb out while taking deep breaths of air.

A one-two punch of a shock then a close call with almost falling. Nightwing needed to get into gear here. He needed to center himself and get calm again before making any kind of move.

Eventually, the background noise of Robin yelling for him to answer reached him. Pressing on his earpiece, he said almost breathlessly, "I'm alright. I'm okay. Just give me a minute."

" _You sure you're alright? It doesn't sound like it. Talk to me, man,"_ Robin demanded.

"Just a sec. I need...just a sec." He dropped his hand down as he sat there, staring ahead without actually seeing anything.

This was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. Because that was _not_ Tony Zucco down there. It was _not_ the Tony Zucco that he was thinking of. It was impossible. It couldn't be. But that voice, that _damn_ voice, he knew he recognized it. What was...what was happening? It was as if this city was determined to throw them curveball after curveball.

And this was just the latest one.


	6. Gala of the Gods

Gala of the Gods

The sound of violins filled the air. A sizeable crowd was milling about the ballroom, some chatting, some eating, and others dancing. It was just like all the other charity galas Bruce Wayne had attended in years past.

Of course, there was the presence of the Justice League to make this one special.

Worming his way through the crowd, Bruce had heard their entrance had caused a stir. He wouldn't know considering he had made it a point to arrive fashionably late. As it turned out, his tardiness went unnoticed since just about all the party-goers were still buzzing about superheroes in their midst. Though he was strolling around casually, the dark-haired man was actively searching for them, his eyes moving systematically from one side to the other.

So far he had only caught sight of Green Lantern. He had taken up a position by the stage, where Mayor Grange had proudly announced the League's arrival. The dark-skin man had surrounded himself with the GCPD and was engaged in a rather deep conversation it looked like.

That was just one of three, or so Bruce had been told. Superman was somewhere around here as well, along with Diana of all people. While the two male Leaguers were in their work uniforms, he had it on good authority that Diana had opted for something more formal. Whether he'd see her tonight, or at all, remained to be seen.

Feeling his stomach rumbling, Bruce decided it was time to set up "camp" so to speak and perhaps nibble on tonight's hors d'oeuvres. Every so often there would be some good food, but let's face it, tonight was a party funded and arranged by City Hall. That immediately screamed bottom dollar in comparison to the wealthier Gotham elite.

Finding his way to one of three tables, Bruce picked up a plate and randomly picked out finger foods that looked somewhat edible. It was a shame he was feeling snobby about this, but sometimes the blueblood in him poked through.

And speaking of blueblood…

"Bruce! Long time no see!" a boisterous voice exclaimed. Looking up from his plate, Bruce caught sight of the unmistakable appearance of Oliver Queen. It was hard not to notice him considering his perchance for being the life of the party, drunk escapades, and not to mention that carefully groomed beard and mustache. His exploits on the night circuit were practically legendary or scandalous depending on who you talked to.

"Ollie!" Bruce greeted quickly and lightheartedly. "Has it really been that long?"

"Well, I can't recall the last time we were in the same room, so I'd say so," the blond man answered as he held a hand up, the two shaking. "I'm rather glad to run into you."

"That's a first. Usually you can't get rid of me fast enough."

Queen looked hurt at that remark. "I do not kick friends to the curb, Bruce. You know that."

"Well, there was Deborah...or Debbie, I forget her name."

"I think it was Dolores. Huh, I forget her name too."

The woman in question had been a date of Queen's a number of years ago. Though she had come to the party with him, she had left with Bruce. That had been a bit of a sore spot between the men in the following months—that was until they unconsciously buried the hatchet with no clue as to how it had happened. It just had. It probably had to do with a business venture between their companies.

"Now that's reassuring."

Bruce found himself frowning as he looked past Queen, catching sight of a striking blonde woman. She had been the one to make the snarky observation, one that was rather out of place at parties like this.

However, no matter how dressed up she was, how that little black dress hugged her body, and her hair being hanging over one shoulder, caressing the side of her face, the billionaire would've recognized her from anywhere. That fact set him edge.

"How rude of me! Sorry Pretty Lady, let me introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises and all. Bruce, this is my date for the night, Dinah Lance."

Also known as the vigilante Black Canary, who had a liking for fishnet stockings, leather, and a scream that could shatter skulls. All of that passed through Bruce's head, even as he let his smile grow wider and reached out for her hand. Dinah graciously let him take it, the dark-haired man raising it up to his lips where he kissed it. "I must say, I don't think I've seen you before, Ms. Lance."

"I highly doubt you would," Dinah responded as she pulled her hand back, resting it on Queen's elbow. It was then Bruce noticed just how she had both arms wrapped around the blond man's arm, her body close to his. That wasn't the position of two people who had just met. "After all, you are the Prince of Gotham."

"And a prince should know the subjects of his kingdom," Bruce quipped. "Do you mind my asking where you two met?"

"At her flower shop this morning," Queen answered cheekily. "Seriously, Bruce, you should stop in. She's got a wide selection."

Well, that blew out the theory of theirs having previous encounters. So why was Dinah gluing herself to Oliver Queen's side? "I suppose I should," he agreed. "The way you two act, I would've thought you two have known each other for awhile."

"It's the shoes," Dinah responded evenly. "It's been awhile since I wore them that my balance is a little off."

And suddenly Bruce needed a refresher course in detection. At one time, he could've figured that out without needing to question it. Damn, he was getting rusty. "Well, if you need someone to help hold you up, I'd be more than glad to help."

"I'm sure you would," the blonde woman said dryly.

"Oh, I see what you're doing," Queen piped up. "And you're not doing that to me again, not after Diane."

"Hmm, I don't think it was Diane either."

"Yeah, me too."

"Please don't tell me this is all you two are going to do tonight," Dinah growled. "I didn't come here to listen to you guys talk about some ex."

A small smile appeared on Bruce's face. "It's more of a running joke at this point, sorry. Us boys just can't help but make fun of each other."

"So I've noticed."

That was when Oliver cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose I should talk about something more respectable with you, Bruce. There's a venture with Queen Industries that I was hoping Wayne Enterprises would be willing to join."

That caused the young man to blink owlishly. He hadn't been expecting business dealings to be going down at this party. "You're sure you want to do that?" he ventured. "I mean, Wayne Enterprises isn't exactly the hot commodity it once was."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dinah looking to Queen curiously. It seemed she was interested in this new conversation thread too. Oliver, though, simply shrugged his shoulders. "The way I see it, you guys are at a low point, that's all. It's a moment primed with all sorts of opportunity."

"Meaning?"

"The way I see it, Queen Industries needs some help in the R&D department, something that your corporation has plenty of and a reputation of excellence, that plague of bats notwithstanding. Wayne Enterprises also needs some help getting over that little debacle, so Queen Industries can do you guys a solid, help you out of this hole, and you'd owe us a favor."

Never let it be said that Oliver Queen did not know his way around a boardroom. He could sniff out a deal with the best of them and he no doubt saw a plum just waiting to be picked with Wayne Enterprises' current misfortunes. In fact, had their situations been reversed, Bruce would have done the same thing.

So he decided to gauge if this proposition was as good as it sounded. "Mind telling me some details about this venture of yours? If I'm going to take this back to Lucius, I need to know it's something good."

"Trust me, Bruce, it'll be worth your while," Queen reassured him. "Why don't we set up a time for lunch? You, me, Lucius, my people."

He then moved the arm Dinah had been holding and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her a little closer to him. "The Pretty Lady here," he added.

"I'm gonna have to check my schedule on that one," the blonde woman responded. "If lunch is anything like this, I might want to skip."

Queen's eyes widened as he looked to his date. "That doesn't sound good," he said loudly enough for both of them to hear. He then looked to Bruce before saying, "Looks like I have some other business to attend to. I'll have our people get in touch to arrange that lunch, okay?" Then without further ado, he began leading Dinah Lance away.

Bruce simply picked up one of his finger foods and stuck it in his mouth, watching the couple leave. He paused in his snacking to focus on the food in his mouth. That wasn't half bad actually.

* * *

Gordon had heard the stories about these superheroes before. Never had he really given much thought to them before. Typically, the commissioner was more concerned with Gotham and what was happening in it.

Then there was the mayor's publicity stunt. How Grange managed to get three members of the Justice League here was a mystery to him. Gordon wasn't going to question it, not yet. Instead, he would try to make the best of it.

From his best understanding, Superman was a one-man justice machine, equipped with so many abilities, it was almost impossible to list them all. Someone like that sounded pretty good right now, based on the current state of the city. Was Metropolis willing to loan him out for a few weeks?

The more he studied the Man of Steel, the less convinced he became that this symbol of life, liberty, and the pursuit of justice was what Gotham needed. For one thing, the superhero wasn't really navigating the waters of Gotham's elite very well. Oh, he was doing his best, trying to lift people's spirits, but he wasn't giving them what they wanted. Which was favors. Favors to enrich themselves with some sort of endorsement deal or as a means to capitalize on the man's reputation.

While Superman would not need to worry about bullets, Gotham was known to test even the best among them. If what he heard about a certain rampage was true, even Superman could be turned against them. They already had one man like that; they didn't need anymore.

Then there was Wonder Woman. The stories said she was a fighting machine, more capable than most men to hold her ground even against the worst of threats. Monsters and man alike had tried to bring her down and still she stood. Even though he was married, he could admit that she was a very beautiful woman.

She wasn't dressed in her usual outfit, the one that the media seemed obsessed with for one reason or another. Personally, the commissioner didn't really care. What would be the point? He was more interested in what she was able to do. Most of what he did know was hearsay, so he couldn't really say if she was capable of handling the city's latest crisis.

If the stories about her coming from an island of women were true, ones that still wielded swords and believed in the Greek Gods, perhaps she would not be able to provide the kind of help Gotham needed.

That left the last of them, the Green Lantern. With his eye, he could pick out that this man was military trained. The short hair was kind of a giveaway, but his stance, the way he held himself, as well as how he positioned himself sealed the deal. His accent reminded Gordon of Chicago, though there was a chance he came from further north, probably Detroit.

Anyone involved with law enforcement seemed to drifting towards this superpowered man's presence, that Gordon had to admit that he was one of them. Naturally there were questions asked to the Green Lantern, some of which were answered straightforwardly. He liked that.

Naturally, when someone asked what exactly the Green Lantern was, Gordon was very interested to hear about how there were more of them out in space, and that they functioned much like a police force would. Now that truly had his attention.

"So there's more of these Green Lanterns out there?" he asked, eyes trained on the African American. "How do you function as a unit? Do you have partners?"

"Mostly we function solo, by ourselves," the Green Lantern answered, his arms crossed over his chest. He was doing his best to remain stoic in this setting while answered the numerous questions various law enforcement officers had for him.

"So it's just you?" Gordon pressed. "What if you need backup?"

"Green Lanterns typically don't need backup. Only when it becomes obvious more than one is needed will you have a pair or more sent. In most cases, all you need is one," the costumed man stated.

Normally, Gordon would find that hard to believe, but as he gaze fell down onto a prominent green-colored ring that was visible on the man's finger, he supposed he'd have to make an exception. If this man was part of the Justice League, there had to be something to it.

The commissioner waited as the Lantern spoke to someone else, allowing him the second he needed to see a tic in the man's face. It wasn't obvious, but it allowed him to know that their "honored guest" was getting tired of all the questions. There was some exasperation noticeable in his voice, like he felt he was repeating the same answers over and over again.

Maybe a change of topic then.

"Do you know anything about the situation in our city?" he asked loudly, speaking over those who were trying to ask their questions.

"I'm aware of what's been going on," the Lantern answered, returning his gaze to the commissioner.

Gordon nodded. "Would you happen to have any kind of experience with this type of situation? Anything you can offer would be most welcomed."

"Other than the obvious? Probably not. Whenever Lanterns are deployed, we know where we're going and if we need to find something, we're able to track down what we need. Thanks to our own abilities, we can do things that your normal, everyday cop is just not able to do. Plus, we're not typically bound to the laws of certain...cities, though we respect them." The Lantern shrugged his shoulders. "For you guys to do what I do, you're going to have to do away with things you're not able to do away with legally."

The commissioner frowned at that. "Anything from your military experience then?"

The Green Lantern narrowed his eyes at him. "What makes you think I have any military experience?"

"The way you hold yourself, your straight-to-the-point answers, your haircut. Lots of little things that scream army to me," Gordon replied.

"You tend to notice a lot of things. Who are you?"

"Jim Gordon. Gotham's current commissioner. I may not have gotten the job the way I wanted to but there's a reason why I've been able to keep it."

The Green Lantern's lips quirked. "Well, you're right about one thing. I have been in the army. I can share some of the things I did in the army, if that'll help."

"Honestly, I'll take whatever I can get," he answered frankly.

* * *

It was rather surprising that the wine was good. Someone must have deemed champagne to be inappropriate for the current climate, so the old standbys of liquor and wine were selected to be served. Normally Bruce indulged at these things—liquid courage was something of a necessity to get through the throngs of self-absorbed socialites—but considering he had to drive, it was keeping himself in check. One glass was fine, but no more, not without putting some food in his stomach.

The urge to drink more became harder to resist when a man in red and blue stopped next to him. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," Superman remarked, looking out over the party versus at the playboy.

"What can I say, I'm a party animal," Bruce replied, attempting to take a sip of wine that became a longer pull. Swallowing the drink in his mouth, he then glanced to the dark-haired man at his side. "Though I am surprised you'd want to talk to someone like me."

"Meaning?" the Kryptonian pressed.

"What is it the papers call me? That's right, an immoral businessman of the lowest caliber. I'm sure some of that is redundant, but I'm not sure which part."

Superman actually turned his head to look at him incredulously. "Are...are you actually drunk?"

Lazily, the billionaire looked at the boy in blue before giving him a wink. "You of all people should know what goes into a good disguise. I may not have a pair of glasses, but drunkenness has its uses."

"Oh." That seemed to settle the dark-haired man, at least for the time being. "I don't suppose you've been keeping up with Kahndaq."

The answer to that was a definite no. For obvious reasons, Bruce had pretty much ignored the outside world, so he was definitely uninformed concerning this third-world country. "I suppose I should be?" he prompted.

"There's someone with power out there and they've been causing a stir on the Kahndaq-Qurac border. I don't think I have to tell you just how explosive that threatens to be."

Much like most Middle Eastern countries, Qurac was a nation embroiled in a tense situation, at least if you consider constant conflict with all of its neighbors tense. It had been a number of years where leaders of that country routinely threatened out-and-out war with the surrounding nations. The dark-haired man had the impression that the country was a Chihuahua constantly barking at the other, bigger dogs. It would threaten everyone, but at the end of the day it was just barking.

Apparently things were changing.

"Any idea who this power is?"

"No, but if the situation begins to worsen, the League will have to respond."

"Does that include our mutual friend?"

"Possibly. I'll have to get back to you on it."

"If you can, please don't. There are other things that require his attention."

What came next threatened to sour Bruce's mood further than it already was. "I've heard Gotham's been rough the last few months."

Hmph, rough. That was putting it mildly. "I'm sensing you want to say something more," he prodded as he began to raise his glass to his lips.

"You know the League is willing to step in. All you have to do is say the word and we'll be here."

Bruce paused, his glass hovering over his mouth. It was at an angle where he could stare at the red wine, looking more like he was inspecting it rather than through it. "I take it professional courtesy is what's keeping you out."

"Along with your 'Stay out of Gotham' bit."

"It pleases me that you're actually listening."

There was a pause before Superman's shoulders sagged, the man sighing. "Do you know how weird it is talking to you with you actually contributing to the conversation? I'm not sure whether I prefer your usual silences and grunts over this sarcastic droll."

"You're the one who approached me," Bruce replied, shrugging his shoulders as he finally took a sip, a real one this time. "If you wanted long silences, you should've met me in my other suit."

"Touché." That was said was a note of humor. Hell, if it had been Clark Kent standing here instead of Superman, this conversation would have gone much differently. There was also the fact that both men were in a crowded room with people that weren't in the know. Reading between the lines was a must. If the farm boy had a difficult time adjusting, that was his problem.

"But in all seriousness, why are we being sidelined?" Superman asked. "Why are we having to use a publicity stunt to get any clue as to how bad things are getting here?"

"Because what happens in Gotham isn't any of your business," Bruce retorted bluntly. "There's a certain way of doing things here that doesn't work with the League. I don't need to remind you about your last go with the riff-raff here."

To be fair, that encounter hadn't been in Gotham, but in Metropolis. Metropolis was still rebuilding after that incident. Still, the point had to be made.

"So it's okay for you to handle it," Superman replied in resignation. "You and your sidekick and the other vigilantes."

"That's because they know the dangers so much more intimately. They know that if they involve someone with superpowers, things can get out of hand quickly and violently. Ultimately, the League needs to be focused on more worldly matters and not a Mob dispute."

"Some Mob dispute. I think it's one step short of open warfare."

Unfortunately, the Kryptonian had him on that one. It was a testament to how delicate everything had become. If someone like Superman was worrying about the Gotham Underworld, then the situation was more precarious than Bruce had been led to believe.

Perhaps an outsider's perspective was needed.

This time, it was Bruce's turn to sigh. "Your concern is appreciated. Consider your message received. I just need some time to get a handle on things is all."

"I guess that's the best I'm going to get." Superman then straightened out his shoulders. "I suppose I should get back to mingling. See if I can't give you some more unofficial support."

"All the best, Superman."

With that, the Kryptonian walked off, disappearing into the crowd. Faintly, the billionaire mused how miraculous it was that no one eavesdropped on their conversation. While superficially the casual observer would've seen two men talking, one of which was blowing the other off due to being spoiled rotten and the other was just being polite, anyone with a trained ear would've suspected there was more going on beneath the surface.

Inspecting his wine glass, the dark-haired man saw there wasn't much left, so he drank the rest of it, tilting his head back to make sure he got every last drop. Finished, he noticed a server walking by, holding up a tray with several other finished or unfinished glasses. Placing his on it, Bruce then shoved his hands into his pockets and began surveying the scene. Perhaps if he followed Superman's example and socialize, he could leave in ten, fifteen minutes and call it a night. The night was still young and this city rarely, if ever, slept.

"Most people are ecstatic to meet Superman, you know."

Unlike the meeting with the Kryptonian, Bruce actually turned to face the new person speaking to him. Diana, Princess of the Amazon Nation, had a playful smile on her lips, a twinkle in her eye that was hard to miss. Considering the red dress that was currently hugging her body, you wouldn't have blamed a man for missing that look.

"Most people don't save the world one person at a time either," the billionaire returned, amusement thick in his tone. "Though if I had to pick, I'd prefer you to be my hero."

It was a line fitting for his playboy persona. Yet, Bruce would have admitted that the captivating sight of the Amazonian also was a big reason. Though Diana's friendly smile soften at the remark, losing some of its luster, he wasn't about to tell her that truth.

"I don't believe I've had the honor," he continued, unperturbed. "Bruce Wayne, evil businessman at-large."

His joke earned him a larger smile. "Diana of Themyscira. I believe the saying goes, 'the pleasure is mine.'"

Instinct demanded he reply, "But we're not in my bedroom yet." Restraint successfully stop that remark. It helped that a quick glance around showed very little interest in the two talking; though that would've been unusual at most galas he had intended, the dark-haired man's efforts at keeping a low profile so that the GCPD could get as much good press as it could had bored most eagle-eyed watchers. That wasn't to say that wouldn't change, but for now it was fine to be less swarmy than the public demanded.

So, Bruce decided to keep the budding conversation on more nuanced topics. "I hadn't realized the Justice League was so interested in Gotham. I'm sure the boys in blue appreciate your support."

"It would seem the Gotham police officers need as much support as they can get, even if it is a verbal one," Diana replied evenly. "It has not been easy for anyone from what I've heard."

Bruce sighed. "It has been rough, yes, but this crime wave won't last forever."

"What makes you so certain?"

This time a sardonic smirk appeared on his face. "Because nothing lasts forever."

"My Gods beg to differ."

He chuckled. "Fine, nothing mortal does. You're really splitting hairs, Princess."

"Then perhaps we should get to the heart of the matter then?" the dark-haired woman suggested. "Do _you_ need our help?"

Had he been in uniform, that would've earned the Amazon a hard glare. Was this whole party a way for the League to enter Gotham? Show their support so that they could press themselves into an already explosive situation? "I'm fine," he said, a slight growl in his tone that lowered his voice an octave.

Diana stepped closer to him, so that she could lower her voice to where only he could hear her next words. "We're always here for you, Bruce. Don't be afraid to reach out."

Bruce didn't back off. "This concern is new."

"I would've preferred somewhere less crowded, but you've been absent from the Watchtower."

"A call to the Cave wouldn't have sufficed?"

Diana gave him a look. "You screen your calls."

"Touché."

"Since I've been in Man's World, I have noticed that men tend to equate asking for help as weakness. There is no such thing, especially when the world is weighing heavily on your back. The League is a resource at your fingertips, do not let it go to waste."

"If the time comes, you'll be the first to hear from me," Bruce said, though he had no intention of doing so. It'd have to be Armageddon before he made that call and as bad as things were, Gotham wasn't going to be coming to an end anytime soon. As ruthless as Dent had shown himself to be, he wasn't insane; he didn't commit violence without reason.

"But for now, I believe that if I didn't ask you for a dance, I'd be wasting both of our times," the dark-haired man added, his voice growing louder.

Though it wasn't the reply she wanted, Diana was gracious enough to accept this offer. "I have heard that you are good on your feet. I look forward to putting that reputation to the test."

Taking her hand, Bruce led them to the dance floor. Turning to face her once more, he placed a hand at her waist, his hand holding hers as she placed her free one on his shoulder. They stared into each other's eyes, blue meeting blue as they waited a few notes. Then as one, they went through the steps, gliding across the dance floor.

"Nice start," Diana complimented after several moments.

A smirk appeared on Bruce's face, right before he pulled away from her, raising their clasped hands up above their heads as he spun the Princess. They then stepped closer to each other, Diana's hand returning to his shoulder. His hand found its way to the small of her back, bringing them even closer. "I aim to please," he replied.

As they continued their dance, out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see people were taking notice of them. There were surprised double-takes, prolonged stares, and hushed whispers. The gossip columns were going to have a field that about this. Undoubtedly, someone had pulled out their phone to snap a quick picture. The quality wouldn't be good, but it'd be enough for at least one tabloid to buy it.

"Where are you?" Diana murmured then. "You've drifted off."

"Just appreciating our audience," the dark-haired man responded. "It seems we're starting to become the center of attention."

"And this is a bad thing?"

"Depends on how highly you regard your reputation."

There was a look then, one Bruce found hard to place. Diana's eyes were lazily gazing at him, an amused smile on her face. She didn't seem the least bit perturb by his distracted thoughts. In fact, Bruce felt himself starting to feel warm from the way she was looking at him.

"Then let them watch," she whispered, causing an unexpected thrill to run up his spine. "They have until the end of the song to enjoy this sight. I know I am."


	7. Down in the Quarry

Down in the Quarry

"So, you want to let me in on it? You've been quiet since we left."

Nightwing did not take his eyes off the skyline of Gotham, continuing to stand there, hands balled into fists. Even after the mobsters had left that parking garage, he hadn't done anything to go after them. Was it because of shock? Indecision? Paralyzed with so many emotions he couldn't do anything?

The older vigilante had no answer for those questions. He kinda, sorta recognized that they had had a golden opportunity in front of them. Two-face was right there; all that they had to do was go in and try to snatch him up. They could have ended this right then and there.

But he hadn't. They hadn't.

That one name had thrown him off his game, and in a big way. Had this been like what it had been for Robin all those months ago? It sucked, majorly. What sucked more was sending word to Oracle that their bad guy had left.

No word about the backup he had called for. Had they been on the way? Had Robin sent the word out as he had asked? Or had things gotten lost in the shuffle?

It didn't matter now. Not so long as the name Tony Zucco kept running through his head.

He blinked at Robin snapped his fingers in front of the young adult's face. "Hey, earth to Nightwing. Talk to me, man. What's going on? What's with this zombie mode?"

"Sorry," he apologized, speaking for the first time since the garage. "I just...had a bit of a shock back there. I'll be alright."

"It has to do with that Tony Zucco guy, doesn't it," Robin stated more than asked. Nightwing felt his body flinch against his will. "It is. Okay, cough it up. Tell me what this is all about."

"It's not any of your concern, Robin. I'm fine now and it's not going to happen again," he stated back.

"Right. Just like how I was fine after my aunt was murdered. We both know I wasn't, and you're just as 'fine' right now as I was back then," the younger vigilante replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Talk to me. I'll even turn off my radio so that no one else can hear us. 'Kay?"

"It's appreciated, but it's not necessary," Nightwing told his teenaged partner.

Robin sighed. "You know, say what you want about how I acted back then, but at least I was upfront and honest about it. You're hiding something and it's affecting you. Like right now. Like this very minute. You aren't okay. Tell me about it before I have to ask Oracle to dig up everything she can find about this guy. She might find something you don't want others to know."

"So you're going to force it out of me instead," he replied grimly.

"I'm trying to make up for my mistakes. Don't do the same thing I did. We can work this out together. That's why we're working together, right? To watch the other's back?" Robin pressed. "Tell me. Tell me what that whole thing back there was about."

Nightwing was fully facing the shorter vigilante, his hands still balled into fists. He stared his partner down, as if he was weighing the teen's worth. He could see that Robin was serious and that he would go to their mutual friend who right now had the ability to dig up all the dirt about someone's past. One way or another, Robin would find out what he wanted to know.

"I used to be part of a circus," he began, starting from the beginning. This was a story where you needed to start at the beginning. "It was me and my parents. We're weren't the animal keepers or the guys who set up the tents. We were an act.

"The Flying Graysons, a family of acrobats and trapeze artists. That's who we were. And yeah, I was up there with them, swinging hundreds of feet above the ground, risking my life at times, and all to entertain the people watching. And I loved every second of it. Never felt so alive than when I on the trapeze, letting go only to grab onto my folks' hands after doing flips and twists midair.

"We went all over the country. New York. Metropolis. Gateway. Los Angeles. You name the city, I was probably performing there at some point. I grew up in that circus, everything I knew was under the big top. Now, before you get the wrong idea, we had come to Gotham several times before. So when we came back, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary."

Nightwing could feel his lips curved into a smile. Even now, after all these years, he remembered the feel of the trapeze pole in his hands, the feel of the spotlights on him, the sight of being so far up from the ground but not having any fear. They were good times. But like all good times, they had to end.

"I was about fourteen at the time. We had just gotten back to the city and we were in the middle of setting up. I was walking by the owner's trailer, minding my business. I was looking for chalk at that time, we running low on the dust and trust me, you don't want to do trapeze without it. Anyway, I heard loud noises coming from it, didn't think much of it when the door opened and owner kicked this guy out.

"I had never seen him before, but I knew I didn't like him since the owner was yelling at him. I don't remember what it was he was yelling, at least not anymore, but the guy he was yelling at, I do remember what he said. It was a threat. That the owner was going to be sorry about this. I didn't know who he was but I figured that I wouldn't see him again. It wasn't like this was the first time the owner kicked someone out of his trailer."

"But you did see him again," Robin said, his face the picture of absorbed, so caught up in the story that it was like he was transported there too.

The older vigilante nodded his head in confirmation. "It takes some time to set up a circus. It was the next day, when we were mostly set up. I was walking past the trapeze wires when I saw one of the carnies crouched in the middle of them. He was dressed like the rest, but I knew he didn't belong. I didn't know what he was doing at the time, but he was finishing up and getting ready to leave when I showed up. He had looked like the guy the owner had kicked out, but I hadn't been sure so I didn't think too much of it.

"That night, I got held up. Dolly, one of the elephants, was throwing a bit of a fit, but she liked me enough that I could calm her down. By the time I was done doing that, the show had already, started and I was late. I ran all the way to the Big Top, and showed up just as my parents began our act. Hadn't been the first time because things get crazy on opening night. A few seconds later, I found out what that man had been doing with the wires, along with everyone else when…"

He couldn't go on. All he could do was lower his head. It was surprising how it still hurt, even after all these years. Robin was holding his breath, mostly like coming to grips with what he hadn't said, but was obvious.

"The man that the owner had kicked out, he was from the Mob. He had been there to try and score some protection money off the circus, but the owner wasn't having any of that. So he snuck in and cut the trapeze wires, then all he had to do was wait for the show to begin."

"But he didn't count on you seeing him," Robin almost whispered, still in enthralled.

"You'd be surprised." He gave a sigh. "I told anyone who would listen what I saw. Except no one wanted to hear me. Just pretend that the whole thing was an accident. At least, that's how it started in the beginning. Then the cops showed up, started an investigation and said that foul play was involved. I couldn't have felt more vindicated in that moment. Finally, people were listening to me and the guy who cut the ropes and murdered my parents was going to jail.

"And he pleaded out. No trial. I was a bit upset because I had wanted to testify. For some reason, people were happy that I wouldn't. I found out a few years later that originally, no one was going to do anything until, of all people, a Mob boss spoke up. Apparently, he had been there at the show with his kid and now the kid had nightmares. Wasn't going to fly over and so he used his connections with the police to make an example of the guy responsible. Had him beaten up then thrown in prison where he was supposed to suffer a long, long time.

"In the meantime, because no one claimed me as their dependent, I was sent into the foster system, went from house to house, never really fitting in or getting into trouble too much that no one wanted me around. I was angry, wanted to go back to the circus where it was home. I was going bad real quickly. Probably would have been just another story, another failure of the system, except, it all changed one night during my junior year in high school."

Nightwing took a pause from speaking. At this point, both he and Robin were sitting down, their legs sprawled out from their bodies. He made eye contact with his younger partner before he began speaking again, "I bet you know the night too. It was the night where everyone found out that the Batman was real."

Robin nodded at that, not needing to say anything in reply.

"After that, I started to get things under control. Started to take stuff like school more seriously, though I was never going to college. Not with my grades and not without a scholarship. I tried gymnastics but it wasn't the same as doing trapeze at the circus. So after I aged out of the foster system, I was trying to make ends meet, and I almost lost that fight. Lucky me, this lady comes out of nowhere, let's me stay at this clinic she ran, then got me set up at some halfway home until I was able to stand on my own two legs.

"Sometime after that, I meet Barbara and you know the rest. A lot of that ended up happening after Batman disappeared, but after meeting another...admirer of the Bat, when we put our heads together, we both knew what we needed to do."

That was a nice trip through memory lane there.

"So how does Tony Zucco come into this?" Robin asked after a moment of silence.

"Zucco was the guy who tried to blackmail the circus owner and then later cut the trapeze ropes," he answered. "Tony Zucco is the man who murdered my parents."

"Geez," Robin said in hushed tones.

"He's supposed to be in prison, rotting away," he stated, the stirrings of anger growing within him. He clenched one of his hands tightly into a fist. If his hand were visible, the knuckles would have been white. "I don't know how he got out, but now he's here and he's trying to work with Two-face. This just gets better and better, doesn't it."

"What are you going to do?" Robin's voice was blank, almost deliberate in its tone.

"I'm not going to kill him. That would be too good for him," Nightwing answered after a moment of thought. "Since we're trying to take Two-face down, we'll be taking Zucco down with him. Two birds, one stone."

"We should go to Oracle. See if she can't track his movements," Robin said. "Maybe we can not only take down Zucco, but use him to bring an end to this crime spree."

Nightwing cracked half of an awkward smile. "You really think we can do that?"

"Unless you have a better idea," Robin shot back. "It's no wonder I'm the brains of this operation, eh?"

Now the teen was trying to cheer him up. And he would let him. Because he knew that even if he wanted to, he couldn't kill Zucco. Not if that meant becoming the one thing that he had promised himself he would never become.

Even now, as his partner was trying to lighten the mood, the temptation to go that far was strong.

* * *

It was routine. Two guys met up, they cut the small talk, exchanged money for a product, and part ways.

The only difference was this time they were being watched by Batman.

Perched on the edge of the building, the vigilante stared down at the two men. The two perps were standing in front of each other, one in a black hoodie, the other in a long sleeve shirt. Hoodie guy had his hands in his coat pocket, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and back. Long-sleeves seemed skitched, one hand hovering at his waistline and the other stuffed into his pants pocket.

A minute passed before they finally moved. Long-sleeves reached behind him, pulling out a wrinkled envelope that had been tucked in the waistband of his pants. He then handed it over to Hoodie, who in turn pulled out a brown paper back. The two traded, each one inspecting their prizes. It wasn't hard to figure out the envelope held money. As for the paper bag, the brief moment where Long-sleeves opened it revealed a metal weapon.

In a split-second, Batman leaned forward and dropped.

With a heavy _thud_ he landed on the pavement, causing both men to snap their heads towards him. Instantly, Batman lunged at Long-sleeves, an arm bent as he slammed his elbow up against the man's chin, causing his head to snap up. With his other hand, he swung it wide until it arched inward. His hand latched onto the side of the guy's head, the force of his swing lifting him off the ground. A moment later and the man sailed into the side of the building, his body going limp the moment he hit and then dropped to the ground in a heap.

Spinning around, the vigilante had a hand at his belt, pulling out a bola. As expected, Hoodie had taken off running down the street, running as fast as he could. Rotating his arm, he began spinning the bola cords until they were a circular blur. Throwing it, the dark-clad man watched the bola spin through the air until it collided with Hoodie, the cords wrapping around his body, trapping his arms and legs together. A moment later and he fell onto the pavement.

Standing to his full height, Batman began walking towards Hoodie. While he had a personal dislike for guns, deals like this were a dime a dozen. Though he'd stop all of this every time, it was inefficient at best. No, Hoodie had a supplier that got him the gun. If he got the supplier, he could stop dozens of these sales instantly.

Coming to stand next to Hoodie, Batman then kneeled down next to him, noticing the guy quivering as he noticed him. "Hey man, I ain't got no beef with you," he pleaded.

"Where did you get the gun?" Batman demanded.

"I got it legal, yo. Nothing wrong with selling what's mine!"

"Then you won't mind if I run a registration on the gun, right?"

Hoodie hesitated, which told Batman all he needed to know. The gun was illegal, most likely with its serial number scratched off to remove any way to ID it. "Better yet, why don't I check it for fingerprints. Let's see just who has touched it?

"Then again, you're a smart guy. You probably wiped all the prints off of it when you first got your hands on it. Which means there's no way to find out the previous owner; that said, it also casts doubt on you as its owner since why would a gun owner wipe his own prints off his own property?" He then leaned down to the young man. "Which puts you and me at square one."

"What's that mean?" Hoodie demanded.

"That I'm going to have to use the _hard_ way to get the answer I want. Tell me what I want to know and I won't break all of your fingers."

That was all it took. Due to his reputation, Hoodie had no doubt the dark-clad man would do just that—in fact, he would have. Hoodie, however, didn't give him the answer he wanted. "I don't know who the guy is. He's new on these streets. Only gives me one gun at a time to sell and no ammo. I have to get that myself."

"How long has he been operating?" the vigilante demanded.

"I-I think three, four months? Not long, man."

So there was a new player on the streets. Batman would have to retrieve the gun for further analysis, if only to determine just what sort of illegal arms this dealer was smuggling into Gotham. The fact that he demanded such a limited supply out on the streets indicated this man was cautious. He wanted to go unnoticed until he was in a better position for larger sales.

"Where can I find him?" the Dark Knight then asked.

"We never meet in the same place," Hoodie answered. "And never twice on the same day."

Which meant Hoodie had gotten the gun tonight—damn. Yet, it seemed his captive was more informative than expected. "Just before I left him last, he was on his phone," Hoodie blubbered out then. "He was talking about some deal outside of Gotham. It sounded big."

"Where?"

* * *

The area southwest of Gotham had always been used for its large deposits of stone. Limestone was a top mineral found there, along with quartz and granite. It had been some time since Batman had been in the area.

Thankfully, the quarry he was at was not the same as the last one.

The quarry was more like a pit than anything. Walls of rock led to its bottom, where construction equipment was scattered about. Most of the machines were designed for digging into the earth, breaking the stone layer, and funneling it to where it could be piled into trucks and driven to a storage facility.

There were levels in this pit as well. Each level had a different color of rock indicated where it started and where it began. It was very much like a tree ring, indicated a certain time period. The vigilante and his protégé were posted on the third to last level, looking over the bottom of the quarry from two stories up. Batman was crouched next to the body of a crane, its neck reaching out over the hole. Batgirl was on the other side of the crane with strict orders to stay put.

Below them was a group of men right out in the open. Most of them were in suits of various style and expensive. The leader clearly had the most expensive suit of the group. He also held a briefcase in front of him, his other hand grasping the top of the one holding the briefcase's handle. His posture indicated he was quite relaxed, which was at odds with his men. They all had at least one of their hands hidden from sight, gripping their guns no doubt. There was some nervousness as each one shifted their weight from one foot to another.

They had been standing there for at minimum ten minutes. That's how long the Dark Knight had been there and these men had already been here. The second party should be here soon though, or the man with the briefcase would be getting impatient soon.

Thankfully, the second group arrived. Of this group, Batman immediately recognized two of the men. The first was a man right out of Dick Tracy. A trench coat and a wide-brim hat covered his body, but his mustache was a dead giveaway. That was Eddie Foster, a smooth-talking street hustler. He was a fast talker and was usually the one to run these little deals. It hadn't been the first time Foster and him had crossed paths.

The second was a shorty man with rather mousy features. That was Dan Krueger, another street thug. However, unlike most thugs and punks the vigilante had encountered, Krueger had a fighting background. Just because he was short didn't mean he couldn't knock you into next Tuesday. He was damn near furious in a brawl.

However, there was a third man who towered over the entire group. Like Foster, he had on a trench coat, though his hat was a fedora. That was all Batman could make out of him from this distance. His eyes narrowed. He got the feeling that this man wasn't someone to mess with carelessly.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" Foster greeted loudly, taking center stage. "Sorry to make you wait, traffic was a pain tonight."

It seemed the leader of the other group was in no mood for pleasantries. "You have the money, right?" he demanded sternly.

"That's right. You have the goods?" Foster responded nonplused.

The man shifted his grip on the briefcase, purposefully drawing attention to it. "I do."

Foster then looked to Krueger, nodding his head to a side to indicate the other group. "Do your thing."

Krueger stepped forward, a briefcase in his own hand. Surprisingly, the taller man with the fedora followed him, looming over him like a guardian angel. The other group's leader walked forward as well, one of his own men following. They met in the middle, where Krueger held up his briefcase and opened it. The leader's eyes widened with satisfaction upon seeing its contents. "I believe you have a deal, gentlemen," he then said as he held his own briefcase out.

"Batgirl, I want you to take out the first group," Batman whispered into his comm link. "I'm going for the briefcases."

Activating the electric current in his gauntlet, the vigilante then leapt from his perch into open air, grabbing his cape a moment later. Immediately it stiffened into its glider form and he soared towards the two groups of gangsters. All of the men were oblivious to his approach, at least until the dark-clad man leaned backwards, swinging both of his legs forward and nailed Krueger and his counterpart in the side of their heads with his feet.

Both men cried out as they fell to the ground, Batman releasing his hold on his cape and landing on the ground between them. The two groups of men seemed stunned by his appearance, right until one of them shouted, "Oh shit, it's the Bat!"

It was entirely predictable that the first thing the men did was draw their guns out. An instant later and Batman was throwing his bat-shaped shuriken towards one group, several cries of pain echoing out as the projectiles clashed with their hands, knocking their weapons out of their grasp.

That was when Batgirl joined the fray, flying in as she slammed a knee into one man's head, knocking him clear off his feet. In midair she curled her legs underneath her, her feet pressing against her falling foe's body. She then pushed off of him, using him as a springboard as she leaped towards another gangster. The first thing she did was deliver a chop to the man's hands, disarming him of his gun. With her other hand, she grabbed onto the back of his jacket collar and pulled on it, allowing her to swing her lower body up, her upper body spinning as she did so.

The moment she was hanging from his back, she lashed out with her legs, landing a kick to a thug's face and sending him crashing to the ground. That was all Batman saw out of the corner of his eye as he turned away and charged at the other group of men.

Since many of them were still nursing their injured hands, they were unable to react as the Dark Knight rammed into them. A quick blow to the first man's temple knocked him unconscious before he even touched the dirt. A second punch to the next man's nose caused cartilage to snap, blood shooting out of his nostrils. The thug screamed as his head shot backwards, hands going up to clutch at his broken nose.

Reaching out, Batman grabbed the man by his shirt collar and pulled him forward and up. With his other hand, he took hold of the guy's belt and did the same, hoisting the man up into the air. Twisting his body, the dark-clad man arced his opponent up and then down, dropping him face first into the ground. There was a sickening crunch, but the man immediately went limp as the rest of his body collapsed into a heap on the dirt.

That was when Batman faced his first attempt at resistance. One of the thugs had charged at him from behind, attempting to tackle the Dark Knight if his arms wrapping around his body was any indication. Too bad for this guy that it didn't work.

For one, the man underestimated the vigilante's strength. Though he had his arms pinned down, Batman still forced one up, weakening his force hold instantly and causing the man to slide to the vigilante's opposite side. With his other arm, Batman moved it forward, bending it at the elbow before jerking it backwards, ramming it into his captor's chest, stunning him.

Going back to his other arm, when he had forced it up, he also bent it at the elbow. Swinging it backwards, his elbow collided with the man's head, knocking him back a step and completely removing him from Batman's person. Pivoting on his feet, the dark-clad man spun around, dropping low while extending one leg out. The kick knocked the thug's feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground a moment later.

Suddenly, a loud scream rang out. Jerking his head around, Batman caught sight of a man flying through the air, arms and leg flailing about wildly. He flew right by the vigilante, his head following the careening man until his head collided with another thug's, causing both to drop to the ground unconscious.

Staring at the pile, Batman then looked behind him once more, finding Batgirl standing in the middle of several unconscious men. She looked no worse for wear and was patiently gazing at the Dark Knight. A glance around them showed there weren't any more threats they needed to neutralize.

It also revealed that both briefcases were missing.

That caused Batman's eyes to narrow, his mouth hardening. Someone had managed to slip away during the fight, taking the money and whatever illegal goods with them. They couldn't have gotten far though. He would find them.

* * *

Running, Eddie Foster silently chanted prayers in his head. There were two guys in front of him, and they were running full out. Eddie was certain there were a few more right behind him.

Somehow they had managed to slip out of the fight. Somehow the Bat had forgotten about them, or so he hoped.

Eddie had met the Bat before. The Bat had broken his arm in two places and put him in a cell. He had gotten out a year ago and did his best to stay low key. No big jobs, just a ton of small ones to keep himself afloat. Why, oh why, did he think working with this ego maniac would be a good idea?

And as if to further prove his regret, out of nowhere Mr. Jones appeared, causing the entire column of fleeing men to skid to a stop. "Where do you think _you're_ going?" the giant man growled.

Already, flashes of the man's face put Eddie in a cold sweat. It was beyond horrifying. That skin, those bared teeth, it was like looking at a monster. Even worse, the guy had a good relationship with the boss, so he undoubtedly had control over the entire gang.

There was a time and place to keep quiet and this was it.

"Are you blind?!" one of the man hissed. "The Bat's here! Only a crazy guy would want to take on the Bat!"

Due to the shadow covering Jones' face, they could only imagine the snarl that was on his face. "Low-life cowards," he growled. "Who said you could run?"

"What about you?" another man demanded. "Why aren't you out there fighting the Batman?"

That was when Jones held up not one, but two briefcases in one hand. "I got the goods, ya moron. That makes me the most important guy here. I don't see any of you snatching the bags."

In all honesty, Eddie had forgotten about the deal. He hadn't cared about the money, or what they were buying; hell, he hadn't cared about Dan getting taken down as long as he got out of there. There was no "never leave a man behind" like the army. It was every man for himself. That had always been the rule in Gotham; if you didn't look out for yourself first and foremost, you were gonna get stabbed in the back.

"Here," Jones said as he shoved the briefcases towards Eddie, forcing him to wrap his arms awkwardly around them just to keep from dropping them. "You're all scared about some flying rat. Let me show you how to deal with it."

Since they were basically on a dirt path, a trail that zig-zagged up the side of the quarry, Eddie wasn't sure what Jones was up to. What the giant man did though, was grab a large rock that was half-buried in the dirt. Incredulously, Eddie watched as Jones grunted and literally pulled the rock out of the ground and held it above his head. Clumps of dirt fell off the rock, pelting the ground and the hole the rock had been lying in.

"Watch closely, girls," Jones murmured before he drew his arm back, then threw it forward, throwing the rock out over the quarry. Eddie watched in amazement as the rock hurled through the air, beginning to drop down towards the bottom of the quarry.

And fall right towards the Batman's head.

* * *

The shadow was the first thing Batman saw. Jerking his head up, a boulder the size of a microwave was on a collision course with his head. Diving forward, the Dark Knight went into a roll, ending up on his feet moments before the rock impacted the ground where he once stood.

Looking over his shoulder at the large stone, he then turned his head to look where he believed it had originated. It was definitely on one of the upper levels of the quarry, which mean someone was up there with some sort of weapon to catapult the boulders. Reaching to the back of his belt, his hand grabbed onto his grapple gun, the dark-clad man preparing to give chase to his unexpected attacker.

Of course, that's when gunfire rang out.

This time the Dark Knight knew exactly where the bullets were coming from. Against the wall of the quarry was scaffolding, parts of it covered up with wooden boards, giving it a face. A torrent of gunfire erupted from there, sending hot lead flying towards him and Batgirl. Both vigilantes immediately took off running, heading towards a bulldozer that was thankfully nearby. Batgirl easily took cover behind it, skidding to a stop. Batman, on the other hand, had the gunfire practically at his heels—too close for comfort. He dove behind the frame of the vehicle, the sounds of bullets ricocheting off its surface ringing out.

It was a few seconds before it stopped. The reason for that, it turned out, was that the shooters had run out of ammo and were reloading. Taking that moment to peek out from behind the bulldozer, Batman caught sight of several men emerging from the scaffolding. There were in solid-colored uniforms, if that what you could call it. Some of them wore solid white, while the rest were in solid black. The vigilante narrowed his eyes.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me!" Eddie exclaimed, right before several of his boys shushed him.

Jones merely glared at him before looking back over the ledge. "Shut yer trap," he growled, his eyes fixated on the new guys. "You don't want the Two Ton Gang hearing us."

The Two Ton Gang was the enemy—Harvey Dent's mob family. In honor of their boss, they wore either white' or black-colored clothes. They were also armed to the teeth as they seemed to appear out of nowhere, their sights right on the Bat.

Maybe one of them would get lucky and ice the Bat?

"What are they doing here?" one of the boys hissed. "Are they moving on our turf?"

That caused Eddie to frown. Fact one, this wasn't their turf. They were just doing a buy, nothing more. Still, that didn't mean the idiot didn't have a point. What was Dent's boys doing out here? There wasn't any good reason for them to be here unless they knew something was…

"They knew about the buy," Eddie said, his face twisting into a scowl. "There's no other reason for them to be here unless they were going to interrupt it."

"I think you might be onto something," Jones agreed. "Someone, get me another rock."

"And what? Have them get out of the way again?" Eddie retorted. "Yeah, that worked _so_ well on Batman."

Once again, Jones turned his scary face onto the man, but he wasn't buying it. The rock idea was stupid—period. Growl and snarl all he wanted, Jones was too dumb to realize it.

It seemed that point occurred to him a moment later as he lost his glare, the look softening into one of thoughtfulness. "Maybe one rock isn't enough," he muttered before his eyes widened with realization.

"But what about a hundred?"

"A hundred rocks? How? You gonna throw them one at a time?"

"No, all at once."

Alright, this wasn't making any sense. There was no way this guy could hurl a hundred rocks at once. In fact, Eddie was about to say as much when Jones turned to look at the rest of the boys.

"Everyone get clear of the quarry. I'm about to blow our insurance policy."

* * *

A flurry of bat-shaped shuriken whirled through the air, clashing against hand and gun alike. The men screamed as they were disarmed, clutching at injured hands.

A blur of black soon followed as Batgirl was right in front of them. The first man she encountered was met with the business-end of her palm as she slammed it underneath his chin, snapping his head back and sending him flying backwards. In midair she twisted her body so that she could properly lash out with a leg to a man close by, immediately sending the man crumpling to the ground from the blow.

That was when Batman joined the fray, ramming his shoulder into a thug who was staring dumbly at Batgirl. The hit caused the man to stumble, leaving him wide open for the punch Batman slammed right into this face, knocking him to a side. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a couple more shuriken and swung his arm out, sending the projectiles flying. This time, the shuriken struck the temples of two men, knocking them unconscious instantly.

Batgirl darted into view again, going low as she made to slide feet first on the ground. This allowed her to slide feet first into another thug, her legs spreading apart before scissoring together, her legs wrapping around her target's own legs and taking them right out from underneath him.

As the man fell, a loud scream caused Batman to turn his head to a side. One of Dent's goons was charging at him, a 2x4 clutched in his hands. The Dark Knight didn't hesitant as he lunged forward, keeping an arm up and across his chest. The distance between the two men disappeared rapidly, Batman jerking his arms forward, but keeping it bent at the elbow.

His elbow rammed into the charging man's face, stopping his run in mid-stride. For assurance, Batman continued to turn his body so that he could swing his other fist, slamming it against the side of the man's face and dropping him to the ground. Considering the punk didn't so much as twitch, he knew he was out of commission.

Using his momentum, Batman continued to spin, pivoting on the balls of his feet. Dropping his arm down, he once more pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken, releasing it as he completed a full spin. He watched only long enough to see the projectile collided with the forehead of another goon, knocking him out much like the others.

As it turned out, he hadn't needed to worry about anymore threats. A quick survey of the area showed that there weren't any more threats. In fact, Batgirl was crouching on the ground, her own masked head glancing from side to side and failing to find another opponent.

Now that he had a moment, Batman wondered what the hell was going on. From what he could tell, there was some deal going on, though the parties involved were still unknown. That would be rectified shortly once he interrogated the currently unconscious men.

However, a new wrinkle had emerged with this third group. Considering he had seen enough footage and photos, the vigilante knew this new group was Harvey's. Considering they had come out guns blazing, these men had intended on interrupting the buy. Their plans changed with the entrance of the Dark Knight, intending on killing him for his interference, or to simply claim the glory for ending him.

This was all supposition. The only way to truly find out the truth was to ask and he had plenty of people to do so.

Suddenly, a loud explosion rang out, causing Batman to jerk his head upward. High above, towards the outer rim of the quarry, a large column of rubble flew up into the air. Moments later, more explosions rang out, sending more large boulders sailing upwards.

A sinking feeling filled Batman's gut. It was a reputable fact that whatever went up had to come down. Unfortunately, the large rocks were arching over the quarry, which meant they'd be raining down in mere seconds.

Even worse was that he and Batgirl were at the bottom.

Immediately, he began running. He had no doubt Batgirl would follow his lead. There weren't many good options with them out in the open. It was too far to take cover beneath the scaffolding, never mind that the rocks would crush the structure. However, there was one thing that might hold up.

Racing for the bulldozer, Batman went into a slide, sliding underneath it. Batgirl did the same maneuver, coming to a stop next to him underneath the vehicle. Instinctively, the vigilante wrapped his arm—and subsequently his cape—over the younger girl.

A heartbeat later and the rocks rained down. The sound of stones pelting the metal behemoth above them filled their ears, drowning out all other sounds. The truck shuddered from the onslaught, but didn't give in to the pounding. From where they laid, they could see the large rocks hitting the ground, some bouncing after impact, others shattering, and some just coming to an immediate stop.

Then as sudden as it started, the storm of stones ended. Staying still, Batman stared out from underneath the bulldozer, waiting for a second wave. Silence was all he heard aside from the soft breaths of his comrade next to him.

It was some time before the vigilante came to the conclusion there wouldn't be another wave. Slowly, he crawled out from underneath the bulldozer, staring at the scene in front of him.

Much like what he watched, he saw rocks scattered all over the place. Some were still whole while others were in pieces. More importantly, the men that had been dispatched had taken the brunt of the assault. Blood was flowing between the rocks, mangled bodies of the men smashed by the boulders.

Batman's hands clenched tightly together. The carnage before him was overwhelming. How? How had things come to this? Although they were men that wouldn't have mind him dying, they were still people and they were clearly beyond saving. It was like a metaphor for what had happened to Gotham. The city was getting beaten and blooded by this avalanche of lead bullets and gunpowder.

In the face of such a threat, Batman had taken refuge from the storm. He was losing the city, Gotham, to all of this senseless violence.

 _Damn it all…_


	8. Is There a Doctor in the House?

Is There a Doctor in the House?

Word had reached him that his men were back. What he hadn't heard as he made his appearance in front of them was that a lot of them were missing.

"What happened?" Two-face demanded as he took in the sight of a few members of the Two Ton Gang who were nursing some pretty ghastly wounds. One was still bleeding profusely, trying to cover a blood-soaked area of his body with blood-drenched clothing. Another was holding his head where a very nasty gash was located. A third had a leg so mangled, it didn't look like he would be walking again anytime soon.

There had better be a good explanation for this.

"The gang showed, found the guys that Zucco said would be there and they started shooting at them," Min spoke up. "Then the assholes for some reason try to blow up half the quarry. Took out most of the guys you sent."

Two-face narrowed his right eye, his left eye remaining wide opened due to lack of eyelids. That seemed a bit too convenient.

"Sounds like it was a trap," the crime lord growled as he pulled out and began flipping his coin repeatedly. "Where's Zucco."

"I'll retrieve him," Doubleday volunteered and slipped out of the large room.

Two-face grunted in reply, keeping his attention on what was left of his men. He wasn't a paranoid man, but something about this smelled fishy. What were the odds that these new guys happened to have explosives on them? Homemade bombs wouldn't have the kind of oomph needed to blow up solid rock.

So these guys were in business for some time, getting together the kind of cash needed to get their hands on some of the good stuff, probably military grade explosive. Not cheap by any means.

And then Tony Zucco shows up, blowing their cover on them after they had gotten their hands on some. Coincidence? Time to put Zucco on the hotseat again and see what he spouted out this time.

"Two-face," Doubleday spoke up upon returning, Zucco following behind him. The disfigured crime boss noted how Zucco raised his eyebrows. Was it a sign of surprise or was he not expecting to see this scene?

"Zucco, you have some explaining to do," he stated as he stalked his way over to the mobster. "When were you going to tell me this other outfit had some firepower on them or did it slip your mind?"

"Honestly, Two-face, I have no idea what happened," Zucco confessed, looking lost.

"You don't? That so?" Two-face began prowling around this newest addition to his organization, not taking his eyes off him. He was like a lion hunting its prey, waiting for the right time to pounce.

"What happened to them? Weren't there more?" Zucco asked, gesturing to the injured Two Ton gangsters.

"There were more, until our competition blew up the quarry you said there were going to be at," Two-face stated. "How did they get their hands onto that stuff? The way they used it, it was like they were expecting company."

"I swear, I had no idea they had those kinds of resources," Zucco swore. "I'm as surprised as you are. My man is going to have to answer for this since it's his responsibility to tell me this shit. This is not going to happen again, I promise."

Two-face stopped his pacing, giving a final flip of his coin. Glancing casually at it, Good Heads faces him back. "Alright, say I believe you. What are you going to do to show me that you're serious? That you're on _my_ side. Because you're looking really suspicious right now."

Before Zucco could say anything, one of the twins exclaimed, "Whoa, did you just say the Bat was there?!"

That definitely removed all focus Two-face had on Zucco. "Batman?" he repeated.

Had the Bat been there? Then...then there was a possibility that those explosives had been meant for the vigilante and his men just got caught up with it. An accident, truly coincidental.

Or was it? Now he was of two minds about this.

"What was Batman doing there?" Zucco wondered aloud. "How'd he find out about that meet?"

"Don't ever underestimate the Batman. He knows how to find out information," Two-face replied. "Probably someone who had an idea of what was taking place talked. Or gave enough info that the Bat was able to track them down. That tells me something, though."

"What?" Zucco asked.

"The competition has some loose lips. And you know what loose lips do?" the crime lord answered almost in jest. "I make sure none of my men talk. Why do you think I've been able to last so long? Nothing about what I do gets out to the public or to anyone that can be intimidated. Let's just say I have an eye for squealers."

Which reminded him. Needed to up security a bit.

"Christ," Max said, swearing at one of the survivor's injuries. "What are we going to do? We're going to need a doctor for this shit. Is there a doctor in the house?"

Two-face's right eye twitched at the old line. However, Max did have a point. For the longest time, he and his men had been able to get through most jobs unharmed. Those that were hurt were those who had lethal wounds. So no need for a doc.

Looks like their streak had come to an end.

"Alright, we need a doctor," Two-face announced, taking charge while directing all attention towards him. "Where can we find one who would be willing to work with our lot? Hospitals are going to be out of the question. And if tonight is going to be sign of things to come, we'll need someone to stay on long term. Someone no one will miss and if they do, they won't be looking for them very hard."

Other than moaning, no answer was forthcoming. Seemed like it was going to be all on him, as usual.

Then someone snapped their fingers. Max. "I think I know somebody!"

"Don't keep us in suspense! Tell him!" Min urged his twin.

"Okay! Okay!" Max retorted before continuing. "It's this lady doc who runs this clinic in the poor part of town."

"Which poor part of town?" Two-face demanded.

"Um…" Max scrunched his face as he tried to think. "It's close to Crime Alley, I know that much. The doc, though, her name's...Thompkins. That's right, Leslie Thompkins. And she's good, real good. I've got no idea why's she's running a free clinic, since she's definitely better than most of the docs in the city."

Two-face ignored Max's ramblings, instead thinking about the doctor's name. Something about Thompkins sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. Whatever, probably wasn't important. Still, should they go for this lady or leave her alone. It didn't...feel right to take away someone who was treating the poor. However, his men needed medical attention, and they needed it _now_.

Good thing he always had a tiebreaker on hand.

He gave his coin an expert flip and caught it easily. Opening his hand, he observed the upturned face.

Well, it was settled then.

* * *

The glow of the computer monitor washed over Batman as he sat in his chair, leaning forward in it as he stared at the screen. In one corner was a small window, one that was showing the footage of the quarry obtained through the lens of his cowl. Currently a computer program was moving the footage, going from the face of each man that had been there, doing a quick analysis, then moving to the next person. A column of file icons would appear once the relevant data was collected. Another program was currently running through every database accessible to determine their identities.

While the computer worked on that, Batman had opened up the file he had on Dan Krueger. The man had quite a rap sheet on him, one that wouldn't be getting any longer after the night's events. He had been one of the victims of the rock storm.

Still, his movements would've been monitored due to his frequent trips to jail. Hopefully a connection with a couple of the men out there would be made. Criminals tended to know each other, either directly or indirectly. One of the first things he had done was cross-referenced Krueger's criminal history with Eddie Foster's. Unfortunately, that had been a dead end as the two men hadn't done any jobs together.

The same could be said of three others belonging to Krueger and Foster's gang. There was no affiliation between them, though two of them had worked with each other in the past. Further investigation would need to be done concerning that.

One thing the Dark Knight had noticed upon reviewing the footage was the deference towards the tall man in the trench coat. It was clear all of the men were giving him a wide berth, not wanting to be any closer than they had to be. Unfortunately, Batman hadn't been able to get a good angle, so there weren't any frames that could offer an ID on him.

Disappointing, but that seemed to be par for the course these days. There would be other opportunities to get an identification on him, of that he was sure. It was just a hunch, but someone that could inspire fear in his comrades didn't fade back into obscurity willingly.

All of this was just frustrating. It wasn't because this was a trying case—in fact, it was more like the beginning of one. The frustrating part came in that the case wasn't new. It was one part of an on-going saga, a twist that had come out of nowhere. It meant there was a new player in this gang war.

A sigh escaped his lips then. Wariness began to set in, making the dark-clad man feel very tired. It wasn't a physical exhaustion as much as it was a mental one. Too many things were going on and he had yet to figure any of it out.

A sharp beeping sound was then made, causing Batman to refocus on the computer screen. It seemed the computer had identified another victim. As a window opened, it was revealed to be someone of the other group, the one Krueger was buying from.

Joseph Steinbrenner, businessman, no priors with only a few parking tickets to his name. What kind of criminal was this? Batman steeled his features. Just because there hadn't been any prior arrests didn't mean the man wasn't up to illegal activities; it just meant he hadn't been caught until now. Reaching to the keyboard, he hit the down arrow button to scroll through the rest of Steinbrenner's background.

That's when he read Steinbrenner's employment history. "Currently with Ajax Chemicals," he murmured out loud. Then louder, "Computer: cross-reference all subjects with the employee records of Ajax Chemicals."

A few seconds passed before he struck gold. It seemed Steinbrenner's group was comprised entirely of Ajax employees. None were scientists, their backgrounds indicating they were businessmen or security.

Batman rubbed a hand against his chin. Though Ajax Chemicals was a local company, Wayne Enterprises had done business with them in the past. Of course, due to the Man-Bat Incident, they had severed ties. Still, in all of their business dealings, Ajax had never been involved in shady activities. In fact, they had recently been ranked as high as twenty fourth on Forbes' Most Trustworthy Companies to work for.

It seemed that ranking was not earned.

Ajax wasn't a front for criminal activity though. That much had been determined when investigating the company. Either that or they were much better at hiding their illegal operations. While Batman doubted that was the case, the fact they were now tied to this massacre in the quarry indicated one of two options: the first was that Ajax Chemicals was very adept at keeping their under-the-table dealings just that, under the table; the second was that this was something new that had started. Further digging would be needed on Steinbrenner and his associates to see how long they had worked for Ajax and their travel habits.

Batman leaned back in his chair, slumping in it. He had more questions than answers, something which did not please him in the slightest. It was unfortunate he had no idea what was being traded at the buy as well since both briefcases had gone missing. Either they were buried underneath a large rock, or someone had managed to leave the quarry with both in hand. As much as he didn't like to admit it, the latter was most likely what happened.

 _Damn._

* * *

They found her on a rooftop, not that it was surprising. More and more, Huntress had been hanging out above the city, looking down on it like the city's personal guardian.

No doubt that was influenced by the crowd she was running with nowadays.

What was surprising was that she was alone. Crouched on the ledge, purple cape pressed against her back as its edges billowed softly out in front of her due to the wind, the vigilante looked down at the streets, eyes darting from one side to the other.

"You know, you walk like a herd of elephants," the dark-haired woman called out after awhile.

A smirk fought its way onto Black Canary's face in spite of herself. Somehow, Huntress always drew out her more playful side. "It's not easy sneaking up on someone with all this gravel," she returned evenly.

Standing up, Huntress turned to face her and the rest of the Birds of Prey. She started to walk towards them, closing the distance. The blonde woman couldn't help but notice the difference between their footsteps. Whereas Canary had made a racket, Huntress was damn near silent in turn. Sure there was that crunching sound of small rocks rubbing against each other, but it was noticeably softer.

It didn't pass Huntress' notice that her former comrade had recognized this. "Practice, practice, practice," she said in a mocking tone, sounding more like a high-pitched piano teacher than a kick-ass heroine.

"Not all of us have the time to do that," Black Canary pointed out.

"Since you're still on street-level, no kidding. I, on the other hand, have made the time."

"In other words, you're practicing while Batman sniffs out the criminals."

"Damn straight. Though if you must know, that's Batgirl's job now. I swear, that girl has the nose of a bloodhound; she can sniff out trouble faster than a pyromaniac can start a fire when playing with matches."

More like she could pick out a bad guy's presence from their body language and predict when they'd strike. Black Canary had firsthand experience with just how incredible that girl was. If what she had been told was true, she was just tapping into her potential. The sky was the limit for her in this profession of theirs.

However, there were other matters they needed to discuss. Seeing as they had broach the topic of Bats, the blonde took that as an opening to bring up the real reason she and the Birds had sought their ex-partner out. Seeing as Katana and Manhunter were keeping their distance somewhere behind the new, it was up to Canary to get the ball rolling. "Speaking of which, we need to get in touch with Batman."

Huntress stared at her before responding, "Smooth, BC, very smooth. Mind telling me why you want to talk with the bossman?"

"Unfortunately, it has to do with Man-Bats," the blonde replied. "Katana and I found more."

This time a scowl appeared on the purple-clad woman's face. "Are you freaking kidding me?" she growled lowly. "What is it with these unending cases, huh? First it's those Court of Owl losers, now it's those Man-Bats. Whatever happened to the good old days of open and shut cases?"

That outburst surprised Black Canary, causing her to blink her eyes owlishly. She hadn't been aware of a lingering threat from the Court of Owls. "Is there something we should know?" she hesitantly inquired.

That caused Huntress to shake her head in the negative, her dark hair brushing over her shoulders. "No, no, it's just an ongoing case from Batman. He's been tracking down those Court guys since the Talon Attacks."

"Do you guys need help?" the blonde immediately asked. If the Court of Owls was still a threat, then they needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. Another night of assassins was the last thing Gotham needed at this point.

"I wouldn't worry about it," her friend answered her. "From what I can tell, Batman's been hammering them so hard, they're basically extinct. Every once in awhile we'll come across a member, but for the most part they've all gone overseas."

Glancing around them, Black Canary couldn't help but ask, "Is that why Batman isn't here now?"

Again, another headshake. "No, I'm just on my own tonight. Didn't run into him on his patrol, so he's out doing something important. It's pretty much the only time we're not enjoying each other's company."

That was unfortunate. She had been hoping the Bat was within shouting distance if she found the less-hard-to-find Huntress. It seemed she would have to send a message down the channel, so to speak. "Well, just to let you know, someone's been experimenting on animals with the Man-Bat serum. Katana and I found an abandoned vet clinic outside of town that was being used for this."

Once more, Huntress' face hardened. It was pretty much the same reaction Manhunter had when she heard the story. "So this is just you letting everyone know what's going on?"

"Yes and no. Turns out there's been Man-Bat sightings in other cities, at least one that I can confirm. A vigilante from that city is hunting the man responsible and has tracked him down to Gotham. It's this guy I'm speaking for."

This caused the dark-haired woman to raise an eyebrow. "Speaking for?"

"He wants to meet with Batman. Said it's out of professional courtesy to let him know he'll be in town."

"Oh." Humor appeared on the purple-clad vigilante's face. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're never going to be that one person people go to for permission? We'd have to go to a different city for that kind of respect."

"And all the other cities are taken," Canary returned with a smile.

They both sighed then. Sure they got respect, though both received it in much different ways. Huntress was due to her experience in the city, not to mention her promotion to running with the big Bat himself. Canary's was from the fact that the Birds of Prey were seen as the next best alternative. Still, that came nowhere to how people viewed Batman. Then again, if it weren't for him, neither woman, nor the other vigilantes, would be out patrolling the streets. It was just the territory they found themselves in.

"Okay, I'll pass word along," Huntress then said, pulling the blonde out of her musings. "Mind telling me who this guy is?"

"He calls himself Green Arrow. Looks like a guy right out of Robin Hood," Black Canary answered. "Said he's from Star City if that helps."

"It doesn't, but I'll relay it all." The vigilante snorted. "Since when did I become Batman's answering service?"

"About the time you joined his circle. See, you're more approachable than he is."

Huntress glared at her. "Ha, ha, very funny."

"I thought it was too." Canary then nodded towards her friend. "I'll hear from you soon."

"Yeah, yeah, now buzz off."

* * *

It was very common for Leslie to be up at the clinic late into the night. The reasons were numerous, from medical emergencies that tended to happen late into the night, paperwork that needed to be filled, inventory, and the occasional late night visit from certain nightlife. For tonight, it was paperwork, perhaps the most menial task of her position.

The clinic was running low on certain medications and materials. The elderly doctor was having to not only estimate how much the clinic would need in the future but also keep an eye on the budget. How much could they afford to spend? How much would they be able to afford? Would they need to forgo one item to gain more of another? Those were a sample of the questions she had to ask and answer.

She had asked herself such questions for years, no matter where it was she found herself or whom she was working with or for. It could be in war-torn Africa, in Southeast Asia, or Main Street in the United States. Leslie went where she was needed and did the best she could with the resources she had available.

She could have lived a comfortable life. She could be working at a hospital which had more resources and medical equipment than what this clinic had. Yet, she chose here, because it was here in the heart of Gotham where she could do some good. That's what mattered to her, helping people. Putting them before her own wellbeing.

Because she had sworn an oath, the one all doctors were required to swear. She had also made a promise to herself, one that at times she had felt she had been failing to keep while others she was sure she had fulfilled it and more.

There was one other promise, however, that was more dear to her than any others or any oath she may swear. That promise was one she felt that she was failing, one that perhaps was more personal. It had been made to dear friends of hers, none of whom were among the living, all victims of acts of violence.

All of whom had influenced her and helped make her the woman she was today.

If there was anything that she was, it was tenacious. Leslie was by no means about to give up. She would fulfill her promise, she would make sure that if anything, one soul in this city would be saved. Even if she had to—

A loud buzzing sound interrupted her. Fortunately, she was used to such a sound so she didn't make any errors or unneeded marks. No jumping in shock or anything. That buzzer was an alarm, one that was sounded only late at night and in an emergency. Duty was calling tonight, once again, and without a complaint, she stood up from her seat and left her office.

She withheld any expectation she had of what was waiting for her. It could be anything. In fact, she may not even stay in the clinic as some cases she had had required her to make house calls. Hopefully it wasn't a life-threatening situation but you never know.

Passing through the large examination area with its multiple beds and stations, she reached the front entrance of the clinic and unlocked one of the two double doors. Opening it just enough that she could get a good view of what was outside, she was greeted with the sight of a group of men.

Most of them were large and muscular, each wearing either solid black or solid white clothing. A very intimidating presence to be sure, but Leslie did not allow such intimidation to affect her. Instead, she observed the one standout in the group, a freckled man who was much smaller than the rest of them, and dressed in a suit and tie. He looked very familiar. In fact…

"May I help you?" the doctor asked neutrally.

"Dr. Thompkins, I'm glad you're still here," the freckled man answered her readily. She knew that voice...but who...oh, now she knew.

"Which one are you?" Leslie cut in before the small man could continue. "Min or Max? I apologize but I have not been able to figure out which one you are. Also, it's very late so I hope you excuse me."

"It's Max, Dr. Thompkins," Max chuckled. "It's alright, no biggie. No one really gets us right. Anyway, I need your help Dr. Thompkins. A few guys I know happen to be really hurt and there's no one else we can go to."

"They wouldn't happen to bear any resemblance to your friends, would they?" she asked dryly, flickering her gaze to the large men.

"They would and they need help," Max told her frankly.

"Did you bring them with you? Bring them inside and I'll see what I can do," Leslie offered.

"'Fraid we can't do that. See, we need to keep this a bit hush hush so if you would come with us," Max corrected, the men behind him shifting their stances.

"I'm afraid I'm needed here more. If you bring your friends here, I will be able to better help them," Leslie replied.

"Please, Dr. Thompkins. Don't make this any harder than it needs to be. You're going to be coming with us," Max stated as he placed a hand on the door, fingers curving around its side.

"And when would I expect to be coming back?" Her tone was even more blank right now. She wasn't liking where this was going and had a feeling she knew what these men's intentions were. She tightened her grip on the door handle, out of their sight.

"Don't know. Until my friends are better," Max answered. So…"

"I'm sorry, but I am needed here," Leslie stated. "I have patients coming in tomorrow, and they need me as much as your friends do. Either you can bring them here or—"

"I'm sorry about this Dr. Thompkins, really I am," Max apologized as he sent a look at his larger friends who began to move.

The second Max had looked away, Leslie pulled on the door with all her strength, shutting the door and almost slamming it on Max's fingers. Before she could lock it, the door was already being shoved open. Instead of being thrown back and into the wall, Leslie had relinquished her position willingly, instead choosing to flee deeper in the clinic.

"Dr. Thompkins!" she heard Max yell after her, but Leslie was in no mood to wait around. Already, she could hear the stomping footsteps of her pursuers chasing after her. Knowing this place as well as she did, she was able to make a sharp turn with ease while the men behind her ended up skidding past the corner.

In record time, she managed to reach her office, panting for air and her chest almost heaving from her exertions. Slamming the door closed, she was able to lock it this time. That would buy her some time but not much. Where could she go? How could she get out? Where was a nearly injured vigilante when you needed them?

Her eyes spotted one of the two windows in the room. Those would do, but would she be able to get them open in time? A great slam against her office door made up the doctor's mind for her. Rushing over to the nearest window, she began to strain against it as she tried to open it. These windows hadn't been opened in a long time, and so some effort was needed. Eventually, she managed to raise it a few inches, a very good sign indeed.

Then the door was broken open. The wooden barricade crashed onto the floor as a large man in solid white continued with his rush and ran into her desk, causing the contents on it be pushed forward, some falling off the side. Another man in solid black came in, gave the office a quick scan then came after her.

This caused Leslie to struggle more with the window, adrenaline-filled strength finally succeeding in opening it enough that she could squeeze through. Unfortunately, it was a little too late. The thug in solid black clothing wrapped his arms around her and picked her up.

"No!" she cried out, kicking her legs about, struggling as her arms were pinned to her sides by the man's greater strength. Accidentally, she knocked over a lamp that had been placed next to the window, the long, thin metal body falling harmlessly to the floor. One of her shoed feet came into contact with the wall, which gave her an idea.

Quickly, she placed her other foot against the wall and with both of the legs, she pushed back, catching her abductor off guard and throwing off his balance. He fell backwards, taking her with him, as he fell back and onto a coffee table, crushing the piece of furniture underneath his large frame.

Tearing herself out of his grasp, Leslie scrambled to her feet and tried to make another run for it only to be swiftly captured by the other man in the room who threw her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes

"Let me go!" she cried out, hitting his back with her fists though to no effect. She kicked her legs about, hoping that if she squirmed enough, this man would lose his grip on her as well.

"I'm really sorry about this," Max said, miraculously appearing in front of her face. In one hand he held a piece of cloth. In the other a small jar that had the word chloroform printed on its label. "I didn't want it to go this way."

The piece of cloth was pressed against her face, the chemical fumes forced into her respiratory system. Struggle as much as she wanted, she wasn't able to last long and darkness took hold of her vision and her mind.

* * *

Guest: You'll just have to see. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. It would be amazing if that were the case, right?


	9. Women Who Take Charge

Women Who Take Charge

The conference room was crowded with officers and patrolmen, all of whom were handpicked members of the official Two-face Task Force. At the minimum, there were approximately thirty of them, all of them expressing either dour or stoic expressions on their faces. On one side of the room were two large dryerase boards. One of the boards was empty with the exception of a few words spaced apart.

The other board had a picture taped to the top of it, an image of their target dated back to his debut appearance at the Second National Bank. Below that picture was a row of multiple pictures, each one printed with the image of an associate or high tier member of Two-face's inner circle. Marker-drawn arrows made connections between each picture, some of them having words written next to them to describe a relationship if it was important enough.

At the head of the conference room was the woman in charge, Lieutenant Sarah Essen Gordon. Her arms were crossed over her chest, one of her hands holding a capped marker casually.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming," the lieutenant announced, beginning the briefing. "I believe we all know why we're here. It is our assignment, our responsibility, to capture the man responsible for the chaos that has gripped our city as of late. You should all know who this is and you should all know that we will not be showing any special treatment towards him because of his past association with our department. I want to make this clear and without any confusion that our number one goal is the arrest of Harvey Two-face Dent and the utter annihilation of his crime syndicate.

"You, ladies and gentlemen, are some of the finest law enforcement officers that Gotham has. You all know what is at stake. If we do not, we fail this city that is depending on us to save it. We cannot rely on costumed vigilantes to do it for us. This is our time, our moment, to prove that we are the ones capable of saving this city in its darkest moment. I will not lie, this will not be easy. There is no telling how long this will take.

"With that said, I am impressed with our preliminary findings. Already, we have identified some top tier figures in Two-face's organization, we have begun to get a better idea of the structure of this group, however we are far from finished. For the purposes of this briefing, we will be catching up everyone on all developments, updating old pieces of information, and if necessary give new assignments to better fit our understanding of our targets. Make no mistake, we are at war, and nothing less than complete and total cooperation is necessary if we are to save Gotham. We have a lot of work to do, so let's get to it."

The female Gordon scanned the room, taking in every face before singling out one. There was a face she had been seeing around lately, She was a woman with short blonde hair, and a very neutral expression on her face, pure professionalism at its finest. The thin blue coat she wore was standard, police-issued, underneath of which was a white dress shirt. A badge was pinned on the inside of her jacket, though at the moment it was very visible.

"Let's start with you, Lieutenant Sawyer," Sarah singled out.

Lieutenant Sawyer, or Maggie Sawyer as she was otherwise known, straightened up in her seat and answered, "Forensics has not been able to find much on those envelopes you recovered from Gilda Dent. There were no stamps, so no potential DNA could be extracted that way. Outside of Gilda's prints, there were no others, so whoever handled it before was careful to not make skin contact with it. There's no return address either, so odds are these envelopes are being placed in her mailbox by whoever is sending them. Or their accomplice is responsible."

Sounded like a dead end but Sarah wasn't about to give up on it just yet. Still, she liked that concise report from their Metropolis transferee. She was to be someone to keep an eye on, and not for negative reasons either.

"I've got something," Bullock volunteered. "I got word from a guy I know who works with the state. From the sounds of it, some of Dent's boys were out at this quarry last night. They couldn't get much from them, since they were dead and all. It might be worth checking out."

"Which quarry are you talking about?" Sarah inquired.

"It's about twenty miles west of here," the overweight lieutenant answered.

Sarah immediately grimaced at that. "That's out of our jurisdiction, Bullock."

"I know, and I thought, oh great, more paperwork to see if we can't get in on that action," Bullock quipped. "Then I got to thinking. What if that was intentional. Whatever happened there happened outside of jurisdiction, so what if that was intentional. Like someone doesn't want us snooping around and if we do, we have to make our way through some red tape."

That was a pretty good point. And to think it came from Bullock of all people. Again, he was showing why he shouldn't be underestimated; the man was much smarter than he acted.

"So we'll issue a request to get in on the state's investigation," she replied. "I'll take volunteers for this lead. Now, anybody have anything else?"

For about the next half hour, it was more going over already known information. It added up to Two-face still trying to assert control over the remnants of Rupert Thorne's empire. That was nothing new. This led into an hour long discussion about what the disfigured man was doing to, you know, pay the bills, maintain his empire and all that. What schemes was he using to gain his wealth and why hadn't they caught on to any of them yet?

Thorne himself had used both legitimate and illegitimate means, both of which Two-face had targeted and ransacked. These places and schemes were now useless since after each raid he made, the police would find out what it was all about.

The money that was being sent to Gilda Dent was the key. For one thing, the total amount she had received was nothing to sneeze at. It was more than your standard law enforcement officer made in a year. So where was it coming from?

Eventually, it became obvious to Sarah that they would not be making any more progress in their investigation. They needed new information, and the points raised were good places to start.

"Thank you everyone. We all have our new assignments. We go back to the streets and see what we can sniff out. Anything, even the smallest detail may be the piece we need to crack this and bring Two-face down," Sarah announced, bringing a close to the briefing. "Let's find where he gets his money and cut it off, starve him into desperation. Let's make him hurt for once."

The screeching of chair legs against the floor was raucous as the various officers stood up from their seats, grabbing their files and materials and heading out. It was bearable to Sarah as she now focused on the dryerase boards. There were more photos on one board and the other had more words written out on it. It didn't all add up to much, but there was more information on them than when this meeting started.

It was a good sign to her. It allowed the task force to focus their efforts more on specifics and gave them some direction to go in. All they needed was one break, one. It would either lead them to cripple Dent or allow them to track him down. It was going to take time, though, and that was a resource they weren't in supply of.

Because this needed to end now. Not in two months or two years, now. Today.

"Lieutenant Gordon?"

"Lieutenant Sawyer?" Sarah answered back, as she looked over her shoulder at the transferee. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm curious; why these envelopes? You seem to think they are important. So far we haven't gotten much out of them," Sawyer stated.

"Call it a hunch, lieutenant," she said, looking back at the boards. "We're dealing with a psycho who has had half of his face burned off. He is committing atrocities all across the city, killing people left and right. It's been a long time since the city was this destabilized before, and that time ended with it almost being burned to the ground. Yet, his wife is receiving cash in the mail from no determinable source. Don't you find something strange about that?"

"It's strange, but it could be coming from someone else," Sawyer pointed out. "Maybe an admirer who thinks that now that Dent's going over the deep end that this is his chance."

Sarah's lips quirked at the theory. "Maybe, and I do appreciate the devil's advocate argument you're giving me. There is one problem I'd like to address. Even though he has physically separated himself from Gilda, legally, on paper, the two of them are still married. And for a man who is tearing the city literally in two, do you think it would be a good idea for another man to try to hit on his wife?

"Besides, if it was an admirer, there would have been more than money. Jewelry, flowers, other tokens of affection would have been found. No, this seems more like a payment, an alimony payment if you will. Let's not forget that Dent was and is a lawyer; he probably knows the law better than any of us do and it would not do for us to underestimate him on that front.

"I believe that forensics may be the key we need. Because even a criminal mastermind messes up, and more often than not it is in the most minute of ways. Easy to overlook by everyone unless you're looking for it. We need to be looking for that tiny shred of evidence that breaks this case wide open, and more importantly, it needs to be so strong that it will be impossible to kick out of court. A bit of a backhanded slap, I know, but more than appropriate given our circumstances.

"So Lieutenant Sawyer, will you be my woman looking for that evidence? Will you take charge of the forensics aspects of this investigation and make sure it stays on track?"

"You've thought this out," Sawyer commented. "Alright, I'll do what you're asking me to do."

"Montoya will be keeping an eye on Gilda. Her eyes are sharp enough that she'll be able to pick up anything out of the ordinary," the lieutenant told her subordinate. "If you need anything, ask her about her observations and see what you can work out."

"Got it." Sawyer was leaving now, and Sarah was feeling a bit better about her decisions. It was good to speak them out loud and argue over them. You tended to see how strong and idea was after you tore it apart.

And much like Dent had torn Gotham apart, Sarah was going to do the same to him.

* * *

It was the hottest blog around. It had the dirt on the biggest celebs, the sharpest critique on anything that was entertainment, and it was almost certain to stir some kind of controversy somewhere.

This was SPOILER ALERT.

But who, you may be asking yourself, could be writing a blog that was so hot right now, it could peel your skin off just looking at it? It had to be someone working for one of the big newspapers, or a newstation, or even Entertainment Tonight! They must have some kind of finger on the pulse of celebrity nightlife. They must be big and famous too, someone who all the celebs knew about and either welcomed or dreaded, mostly dreaded.

In truth, that very lovely person was no more than a teenaged girl whose biggest issue of the day was trying to find where her homework was. She knew she had put it somewhere…

Oh, and this genius of a teen who had her fingers up the entertainment industry's ass was none other than the most fabulous Stephanie Brown. Yeah, that Brown. Everyone knew who the Browns were, after all.

Because her father was Arthur Brown, the host of the hottest game show on the air, _Quiz Bowl_. In recent years, it had really taken off, getting in high profile names and a couple of weeks ago had a "locals only" game where big names in Gotham were the contestants.

And she got to be backstage where she could _conveniently_ overhear things she wasn't suppose to hear. Now, she wasn't stupid. People would suddenly connect the two if she posted that very night about what she had found out. No, she waited a couple weeks, once or twice she did a month, just so no one would figure out the connection. Without _Quiz Bowl_ , SPOILER ALERT would become as dry as a desert when it came to new material.

By all appearances, though, she looked like a Valley girl. You know the type. Blonde hair and blue eyed, thin like a model, beautiful face, the whole shebang. That was her in a nutshell. She even knew the lingo too.

Yeah, she could fake the shallowness of the stereotype with the best of them. But she had brains and she liked to use them. Her father, for all his faults, had nailed into her that she needed to be smart, smarter than everybody, be the smartest person in the room. How many times had he heard him complain about how stupid his contestants were only to be able to give a winning smile when he was in the same room with them?

So yeah, being smart was important to her. And what, may you ask, allowed her to be smart? To show how smart she really was? By exposing the stupidity of stupid people, that's how.

That's why she made SPOILER ALERT. It was why she was finishing the last sentence in her latest post. It was not why she was feeling bored right now.

Yeah, being able to rag on celebrities and stupid people was fun, but she couldn't help letting out a sigh of air as she stared at her latest work. It was becoming so mundane now, you know? Sure, when the secret being spoiled was juicy, it was so much fun to spoil it, but lately she had had a bit of a dry spell. The internet was still eating it up, but Stephanie couldn't help but feel like she was in a rut.

SPOILER ALERT, in her opinion, was running out of steam, even if her hit count was always getting higher and higher with each new post. In the beginning, there was so much more pizazz. It was really, and truly, fun. Now it felt more like work, and she didn't like that.

So how was she going to fix it?

Stephanie needed something new, something hot, something that no one would be able to pass up.

Because she had found all the criticism about her blog from the major news outlets. Criticisms that claimed her blog was nothing but tabloid garbage (only they fell silent when she was proven right) and conspiracy nut fodder. To a degree, they were kinda right. Not that she was in this to be respectable or anything.

It was all about the fun. So how could she make SPOILER ALERT fun again?

Even as she hit the post button, the frustrated teenaged girl tried to think of something, anything, that would spice things up once more.

* * *

A sharp _bing!_ rang out, interrupting the deep thought Vicki had been in. Glancing to her computer, she saw an alert in the bottom left corner. Just the very sight of it caused her to snarl.

She wasn't sure, and still didn't know, why she had signed up for alerts for this stupid, petty blog. SPOILER ALERT was just some tabloid garbage who spied on people, mocked and bitched about it online, and expected some worldly observation to make it sound as if they were mature. Ha! As if!

One day she was going to unsubscribe, but today was not this day. For what felt like an eternity, Vicki's pet project had been stuck, hitting the same damn brick wall over and over with no sign of progress to be made. Other stories had come and gone, but this one had proven to be tougher than she had thought. Sure, she had expected plenty of obstacles—it wasn't like the truth was just casually sitting on a pedestal, waiting for some lucky journalist to find it. It required hard work, dedication, and hiring some sleazy private detective to snoop around one of the richest men in the world.

And then she had a breakthrough. The footage and pictures obtained during the Alien Invasion a couple years ago had revealed a possible identity to Batman's newest sidekick, Batgirl. The first thing she had done was taken this photographic evidence to someone that could authenticate it; if this was all the result of Photoshop, then there was no point in pursuing it further.

Fortunately, her guy said it was real. Vicki had then made him check out Simon's picture of the mysterious girl at Wayne Manor just to make sure—that had been proven to be real too. The guy even commented how similar the girl in the photos looked.

Unfortunately, that was all she could learn about the girl. The redhead had gone through every database—again—she could and still had no background information, no hint of a past for this girl. Vicki had expected the result, but it hadn't lessened the annoyance she felt at that confirmation.

So with the girl a dead end—for now—Vicki turned back to the photo itself. She had analyzed it in every way she knew how. The girl's clothes had been the first thing she looked into, only finding out it was some get-up that could be bought at any sports supply store. The mask she wore was the next thing, but again, a costume store served that need.

Next, the reporter went in search of the picture's location. She found it at some physical rehabilitation clinic, but anyone she had questioned about the girl and the presence of the Batmobile had left her even more irritated. Whatever patients had resided at the clinic at the time were long gone; the staff had seen to making sure no one within the clinic was harmed by the riots going on outside, so no one even knew of the Batmobile's presence on that night. Turnover had removed some of those possible eyewitnesses as well and those ex-employees were just like the patients—long gone.

Finally, Vicki turned to perhaps the most obvious thing about the photo aside from the girl: the Batmobile itself. The vehicle was damaged. How that detail had slipped past her she didn't know, but it was a lead that turned out to be what she was looking for. A car like that turned heads and since it obviously needed repairs, it was only a matter of where it would be done.

Or so Vicki thought. Before she wasted time hunting down mechanics, the redhead realized that the car was so infamous, there was no way Batman would just trust your run-of-the-mill mechanic to touch it. No one in Gotham would be allowed to put their hands on it.

Which meant Batman either discarded the car and bought a new one, or did the repairs himself. That meant the best way to track such a purpose was through financial statements.

There was only one place to look for that.

Because Batman was considered a rather smart man, there was no way he would make such transactions as a civilian. That would've drawn too much attention to him. However, as Bruce Wayne, there was Wayne Enterprises. Such transactions were a dime a dozen, so who would think twice for a brand new tank, or five? Because Wayne Enterprises was a publicly traded company, it wasn't hard at all to get a copy of its financial statements.

Even better was that for tax purposes, Wayne Enterprises had to itemize everything they did, everything they sold, everything they bought. It was a perfect timeline of how it conducted business.

However, those copies turned out to be a boxful. For three days Vicki poured over the records, going line-by-line to find something, anything that pointed to a connection with Batman.

There were a couple possibles. For instance, there had been a bulk purchase for bulletproof glass. Vicki imagined that if she were the vigilante, she'd want bulletproof glass for her windshield. Yet, considering all the research that was involved with the company, it wasn't out of the norm for it to have bought this glass for other purposes.

Steel and titanium were also bought, again something she would want in a nearly-indestructible car, but something the corporation would've used in its research as well. There was also the possibility that material was used to fortify the building, from unexpected reactions from lab experiments to the homicidal maniac that attacked the main building from time to time.

It seemed everything she found worthy of notice could be explained two or three other ways. The only saving grace was that the purchases she found intriguing were roughly around the time of the Alien Invasion, namely within a week. That was way too convenient of a time to ignore.

And then she found something even more intriguing. Smaller purchases for things like grapples, chemicals needed for smoke bombs, and body armor were listed—stuff the Batman was known for using. Now, how could Wayne Enterprises explain _that?_

Highlighting everything that had caught her eye, Vicki then grabbed the phone on her desk, using the same hand to dial a number she hadn't used in a long time before bringing the phone to the side of her face. There were a couple rings before someone answered. "Hello?"

"Darryl!" Vicki greeted warmly, leaning back in her chair. "It's Vicki. Do you have a minute?"

"Vicki Vale?" Darryl replied in confusion.

"The one and only."

Darryl's tone changed to one of amusement then. "Let me guess: you need something from me."

"Now Darryl, what makes you say that?" the redhead spoke, her voice in mock offense.

"Because that's the only time you call me."

Well, when you were right, you were right. "Are you still working for Wayne Enterprises?" the reporter got down to business. "In Shipping and Receiving, right?"

"I am."

"Good. Any chance we can meet up at your office?"

"That depends entirely on how much you'll make it up to me."

"Oh, trust me, you'll get yours."

* * *

"...I find that if you add a little ginger, it really gives that needed kick," Hugo Strange rambled, relaxed in his seat as he spoke about the many recipes he had "improved" upon before his incarceration. There was a pattern here, Dr. Quinzel noticed, and that was how Strange improved upon everything he touched.

Strike one up for narcissism. Narcissism alone was not enough to keep him here, that was one for Dr. Arkham. However, that didn't mean she had a lot to go on. Every session she had with this man, it was always about a topic that had nothing whatsoever to do with the charges leveled against him.

It was like he took charge of the session and determined what it would be about before she was able to exert her own control over it. Perhaps another sign that this man was competent, only problem was, again, it wasn't enough. Some people naturally were able to command conversations, that didn't mean you were a criminal mastermind.

Harleen had not expected to face this during her internship. She had believed that she would have been able to pry into the dark recesses of this man's mind a long time ago. To really prove her worth that she was more than a competent therapist, but one with a future that had no limit to it. Then and only then would she go on to see and treat better and better, not to mention higher profile, cases.

And so far this was proving to be some kind of dud.

Every time she was about to close the file on this man and give Dr. Arkham what he wanted, Strange would always drop some little tidbit that hinted that maybe he wasn't in his right mind to begin with, which meant that he was anything but competent. Then she would have to spend another week or two to determine whether he was faking, if it was real, or anything at all.

It was like she was spinning her wheels and going nowhere.

"That's very interesting, Professor Strange," she cut in to his latest ramble about what a complete and balanced breakfast really was. "If we may, I would like to ask some questions. They are...things that I am curious about."

Strange chuckled from his seat on the couch, laid out on his back with hands folded on one another atop his chest. "Fire away, child. What is it that is stirring your curiosity."

"I, like many, are wondering about your actions during the Bat Infestation incident, how you were connected to a group of people who were transformed into bat-like monstrosities, which then terrorized the city," she explained, crossing her legs as she adjusted her seat. Her shoulders were squared as she waited to hear what this man had to say for himself.

"So what is your question? I distinctly did not hear one," Strange replied, his lips curving casually.

Harleen struggled to not show her impatience. "Why did you mutate your clients into bat-like creatures and expose them to the city?"

"I have to apologize, I was suffering from a break from reality at that time. It's all really a blur," her patient answered, his head turned so that he was facing the ceiling. "I know I have been accused of wild accusations, Harleen, ones that I am struggling to believe. None of it sounds like the actions of a sane man."

Harleen really wanted to rub her forehead at this point. That was another thing, Strange's preference to refer to her by her first name, as if he knew her for years. "Professor Strange, I have heard your recorded confession, you do not sound like someone who did not know right from wrong."

"It is one thing to hear a recording, quite another to be there when it was recorded. You have no idea if it was coerced or not," Strange replied. He tapped the sides of his slippered feet together as he finished speaking. "Is it coercion, entrapment, or forced confession? That recording could be any of the three."

And again, Strange displays his knowledge of law enforcement. Just another piece of evidence but not something solid that she could say, "Look, he's sane, lock him up and throw away the key!"

"Why would you say it's any of those three?" she asked, following the direction this conversation was taking.

"I've been doing a lot of reading recently. I've had nothing but time on my hands," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Should I not be educating myself of the ins and outs of the judicial system?"

"It is not my place to say what you can or cannot do here, though I have noticed your recent interest in chemistry," Harleen pointed out, trying to take charge. "Both the Bat Infestation incident and the October 27th attacks involved chemical substances. Both events were mentioned in your confession. Tell me, why the sudden interest?"

Strange chuckled again. "My, aren't you the clever one. You're observant, I will give you that one."

"Thank you, Professor. Now, if you would answer my question," she insisted.

Strange turned his head just enough so that he could look at her. "Tell me if I'm wrong, you wouldn't believe me no matter what answer I give."

"It depends on what your answer is," she challenged.

"Are you trying to confront me? Harleen, child, you are decades too young to use that technique on me. You're an ambitious one. I can tell. You're chafing in here, talking with me, while wishing, hoping, you could be doing therapy with someone else," Strange monologued. "Do not think I haven't noticed the way you shift in your seat, how you tend to zone off while I speak. From the way you dress, to the way you hold yourself, you have something to prove. Who to, I wonder."

She did not like where this is going. "Professor Strange, we are here to talk about you. I do not matter in the slightest."

"Oh but you do. You're my therapist. Aren't you the golden child, going through the trial of fire against Gotham's latest madman of the week?" Strange gave another indulgent chuckle. "You hoped that this case would prove to everyone that you are to be taken seriously, and so far, you haven't been proving yourself. You want something, you want it now."

This was getting oddly personal

"You've been talking in circles for months, Hugo," she said, giving a sigh as she took off her glasses. Pulling a small cloth out, she began to clear them, using that as a moment to get her thoughts straight. "If I didn't know better, I would say you are deliberately avoiding talking about what you are here for. I would have to conclude, by this evasiveness, that you are competent to stand trial."

"But you won't make that conclusion," Strange replied, looking back up at the ceiling.

Harleen paused in her clearing before she placed her glasses back on. "What makes you say that?"

"I think it is beneath both of us if I continue this charade," Strange stated. "So, how about I offer you a deal?"

"Bargaining, Professor?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"You do know I happened to be a clinician here, in this very asylum, once," Strange said. "Many of the patients here I have treated, quite a few whom have had great media exposure."

"I am not interested in any of your patients," Harleen stated. "In fact, I think—"

"Do not think me blind, Harleen. I have seen the way you look at _him_. I have heard your grumblings," Strange interrupted. " _His_ type, that's the kind of person you want to be treating, isn't it? You feel as if I am preventing you from gaining that honor, don't you?"

"That is irrelevant—"

"Isn't it? Tell me, did you know that once, _I_ was the therapist assigned to treat Arkham's most famous inmate?" Strange had at this point, turned his whole body so that now he could look her dead in the eye. "I have insights into this man nobody on earth has. For someone who aspires to be the person to crack open the enigma that is the Joker, what I possess is priceless and invaluable."

She was ashamed to admit, she had froze up when Strange had mentioned that name. Yes, it was true she wanted to have a go at one of the most infamous men in the modern era, a man who had brought cities to their very knees on multiple occasions, on top of the countless lives he was responsible for ending.

Anyone who could solve the mysteries behind that unmistakable smile, why, they'd be set for life as one of the greatest experts in the field of psychopathology. A virtual center of attention from which there would be no end to the buzz.

Wouldn't it be something if she could be the one to achieve that and to do so as a mere intern? Once she became a full-fledged clinical psychiatrist, her ticket would be more than written at that point.

"From your silence, I assume you are thinking about it. So allow me to give you something to think about," Strange continued, breaking the silence she had not been aware had fallen over them. "You will advocate for my continued stay here in Arkham. You will confirm my 'insanity' and recommend my stay remain indefinite until future assessments are completed, assessments that will confirm my 'not guilty' verdict. In return, I will give my insights into the Joker's psyche, preparing you for the glory that awaits you and giving you the edge you need to tackle a mind like that."

Now she was feeling a bit flustered. "That's quite an offer there, Hugo. However, I doubt any of it will be of any use, especially since I am not in line here, nor are there any plans to put me in the kind of position that I could use those insights."

"Oh Harleen, ye of little faith. It may not seem like it, but I do still have influence in this asylum," Strange rebutted. "I can arrange for you to replace the current clinician and give you the opportunity you so crave. Think about it, I offer you information and opportunity, the kind that no one else can offer. Take a day to think it over. Get back to me when you're ready to be serious."

"What makes you think I'm not serious?" she challenged.

"If you were serious, you would have already accepted," he answered without missing a beat. "Right now, you are a greenhorn, still struggling to find her place in the world. I can be the one thing that Jeremiah cannot, a true mentor. I can be what you truly need, to bring the success you dearly crave. So consider my offer, take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

As Strange returned his back to the surface of the couch, Dr. Quinzel stared at him contemplatively. While this seemed like a rant of grandiosity, what he was promising was too good to be true. Which should have made her suspicious.

That didn't stop a part of her from screaming to take the deal, you were never going to get a better chance!

Perhaps there would be no harm in thinking it over for a day or two. Hugo was right, he wasn't going anywhere.

What could it hurt?

* * *

The bell to the flowershop rang differently today.

"Afternoon, Pretty Bird!"

It probably had something to do with Oliver Queen.

Looking up from her magazine, Dinah looked blankly at the wealthy blonde man. "Can I help you?"

Oliver looked hurt at those words, a hand pressing to his chest as if he were in pain. "You wound, lil' darling. Is this how you treat your second dates?"

"Only when they were boring on the first date."

Oliver arrived at the counter, resting an arm on top of it as he leaned against it. "Surely you weren't that bored. My company alone is enough to keep people entertained."

She couldn't help it, the corner of her mouth twitched up in a small smile. "Is that so?" she asked coyly. "Can you tell me what my name is?"

"Sure thing!" he exclaimed before he fell silent. "It's...Pretty Bird, right?"

"Bzzzt, wrong. Care to guess again? Be careful, if you start making guesses like that ex of yours, I will throw you out on the street. I'll make sure you land in a mud puddle and everything."

The blond man blinked. "But there's not even mud out there."

"Which part of making sure did you not understand?" Dinah retorted.

"Touché." There was an amused grin on the rather handsome man's face. "I know when I'm beat, Dinah Lance."

The blonde woman mockingly clapped. "I knew you could get it eventually. Though I was wondering considering how much you drank the other night. If I didn't know you were a horndog to begin with, I would've been offended by your constant addresses to my boobs."

"You have to admit, they do have wonderful personalities."

This time she rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, not really. I just came in to say hi, shoot the shit, and maybe score another date with you." Oliver then looked around the store before returning his gaze to her. "I know you're rather busy, but I don't think you'll mind."

The crack at her store's current sales rush—or lack thereof—caused Dinah to narrow her eyes into a glare. "You're dangerously getting close to a face full of mud, buster. Any more shots like that and I'll make your ears bleed before I throw you out."

Oliver immediately raised his hands up in the universal sign of attempting to calm her down. "Many apologies. I see we're not at that stage in our relationship to make those kind of jokes. Perhaps you'd rather take a shot at my person instead?"

"Well, I would, but I think the target is question is too small to hit."

It was his turn to glare at her. "You do realize that mud is a two-way street, right?"

"Of course it isn't. See, this is my store and I can throw out anyone I want."

"Not if I buy it. Don't think I won't either so I can toss you out."

Dinah leaned over the desk, a smirk on her face. "You wouldn't dare."

Oliver leaned towards her in response. "And why not?"

"Because my boobs have great personalities."

There was a moment's pause. "Well, when you're right, you're right," the blond gave in. "So, with that said, are you free tonight?"

As if in answer, two phones went off simultaneously. Instantly, both blonds reached into their pockets and pulled out their respective cell phones. "Looks like I have to take this," Oliver said even as he answered the phone.

It was the same for Dinah. Her caller ID was showing Helena's name. Immediately answering it, the blonde woman pressed the phone to the side of her face. "This is Dinah," she greeted.

" _Hey, BC,"_ the dark-haired woman returned. Her tone was friendly and happy-sounding, something that was rather strange coming from Helena. Cocky and sarcastic, definitely her; perky and joyous, not really. _"I got in touch with our mutual friend. Told him everything that you told me. He agreed to meet with you and your gentleman caller tonight."_

"Did he say where?" Dinah asked.

" _Nope, but you know how he is. He'll find you long before you find him."_

That sounded about right. Looked like she wouldn't be taking Oliver up on his date. "Thanks, Helena," she said. "I'm assuming I'll see you there too." When her friend answered in the affirmative, she continued, "I'll see you later tonight then."

Hanging up, she then looked to her male companion, seeing him hanging up his phone as well. "Looks like I won't be able to play with you tonight," she told him.

"Oh?" Oliver looked absolutely wounded by that.

"It's girls' night and you know the saying: gals before pals."

"Actually, I don't think I've heard that one before," he said with a frown. "Wait, does that mean you just—"

"We'll take a raincheck," she smiled cheekily at him.

Oliver stared at her before he mumbled something that sounded like, "Goddamn friend zone." He then cleared his voice before saying, "As much as I like to keep wooing you, Pretty Bird, it looks like my old chum Bruce just did me a solid." He slowly began walking backwards, sniffing as loudly as he could as he looked as if he were fighting back tears. "I know, I know, you'll miss my charming personality, but business calls."

"I hope it's just as rambunctious as here," Dinah called out to him.

"Oh, so _you_ can make those jokes, but I can't?"

"It's my store, so my rules."

"I swear, I will buy this place."

"Only in your wildest dreams, Handsome."


	10. Gifts That Keep On giving

Gifts That Keep On Giving

Wayne Enterprises didn't have just one storage facility. Sure there was one at the main headquarters, but there was...ahem...something as close to a restraining order as one could get without actually getting one. It was more of a detain on sight sort of deal, meaning there was no way in hell Vicki Vale would be getting on the property.

That said, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

Throughout Gotham there were several places Wayne Enterprises used to keep their inventory. It was necessary considering the amount of business the corporation did throughout the world. Because of their independent locations, Vicki could simply go to one of these. Sure the detention thing was for all Wayne Enterprises properties, but that's where being close with one of the foremen came in handy.

Darryl was someone the redhead had kept in contact with for a long time. Every once in awhile Darryl would give her a nice scoop pertaining to Wayne Enterprises. She didn't use all of it, but those nuggets went a long way in confirming what she already knew. In turn, she made sure some green dollar bills found their way into his mailbox. It was a system that worked and kept her off of Wayne's radar.

And it was in Darryl's office the reporter stood in. The man himself was sitting in his chair, looking at the pieces of paper Vicki had slapped down in front of him. The dark-skinned man poured over them, his eyes reading the lines from behind reading glasses. "I'm not really seeing what you're getting at," Darryl said as he leaned back in his chair, one of his hands scratching his bald head.

Vicki rolled her eyes. She shouldn't have been too surprised since her buddy here hadn't made it out of high school. That said, he wasn't dumb. He just didn't read between the lines like she could. "I just want to know if you store those things here."

"I guess we could. I'd have to check."

"Do that then."

Darryl sighed. He then leaned forward, but this time towards his computer. One hand tapped on the keys on the keyboard while the other moved the mouse, clicking every so often. "I'm not seeing the bulletproof glass," he spoke aloud, much to Vicki's chagrin. "Looks like that's at Fred's building." A few more seconds passed. "But I do the body armor, grapples...aaaaand the smoke bombs."

Well, that was at least something. "Think you can show me where those are at?" she asked him.

"Sure," Darryl answered with a shrug of his shoulders. There were a few more taps on the keyboard, which was followed by the printer coming to life. A few seconds later and the machine spat out a few pages. Standing up, Darryl snapped up the pages, checking them before he nodded towards the door.

Vicki couldn't help but marvel at how her new best friend towered over her. She was your average, gorgeous reporter, but Darryl had the physique of a basketball player. At least she assumed tall guys played the sport. Darryl had to actually duck his head to avoid bashing it against the top of the doorframe.

Following him, Vicki had to jog to keep up with the tall man, which was no easy feat in high-heels. The clicking of her pumps on the concrete floor echoed throughout the large room, earning her the attention of the nearby workers. Many eyed her up as she passed by, but wisely refrained from catcalling. If there was one the redhead wasn't in the mood for, it was a bunch of stinky, immature gorillas whistling and shouting insulting compliments at her.

The entire time Darryl was absorbed in the papers in his hands. He would look up every so often, but otherwise he kept his eyes on the papers. Then, suddenly, he made a turn in between two large shelves that were filled with large crates on wooden pallets. "G23," he murmured as he finally turned his attention to the shelves. Finally he stopped, turning to look down at a pallet with a pile of neatly stacked boxes.

"This should be the grapples," the bald man informed Vicki. He didn't look at her, his eyes seeming to roll from side to side, his lips twitching as if he were counting. His brow furrowed into a frown after a moment. He repeated the same action before he looked back to his papers.

"This doesn't seem right," he said at last, causing Vicki to look at him. Noticing her, he then showed her the papers, an inventory list she realized as she saw a list of inventory with their amounts and locations.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"There some missing," he told her.

"Like a box or two?"

"No, like an entire row. If it was just a box or two, I could chalk that up to someone stealing it. Happens all the time. But this is a lot more than just a couple people doing it."

Well, if that wasn't a coincidence. "Why don't we check the body armor and smoke bombs?" the reported suggested.

And wouldn't you know it, it was the same thing with those items. Darryl was nearly apocalyptic upon discovering this. "I'm going to wring someone's neck," he growled as he stormed away, dropping his papers as he did so. "This better be a goddamn typo," was the last thing she heard him threaten before he turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Glancing to the list, Vicki kneeled down and picked them up. Quickly scanning over them, she immediately pulled out a pen and circled the grapples, body armor, and smoke bombs on the sheets, then their amounts. Looking to the shelf then, she began counting the number of boxes she saw. Checking to see how much was in each box and jotting down some rough math, Vicki could see why Darryl as pissed. These were very big typos if that was indeed the case and someone's head would roll.

However, she needed to make sure she knew if the discrepancies were the same. So she backtracked her way to the previous stops, counted what was presented to her, and writing down and calculating the difference. By the time she was back at the grapples, she had discovered that there was quite a bit missing.

 _Hmm, so Mister Wayne, what are you doing with such large stashes of grapples, smoke bombs, and body armor?_

Of course, this was assuming that Bruce was behind these errors. Of course, what would normal, everyday civilians need with those sort of things? That was a big reason why she firmly believed this wasn't a matter of theft by employees. Sure, perhaps they may be trying to sell them on the black market, but the redhead wasn't seeing too many people swinging through the air, throwing handfuls of smoke bombs. That was a select crowd, which didn't make the venture all that lucrative.

Vicki began walking back towards the foreman's office. She'd let Darryl know she would see her way out and to keep her updated on what he found out about the missing inventory. There was more to investigate elsewhere, if only to confirm the orders she was seeking out were just like the ones she found here.

While it wasn't a silver bullet, it was just more proof that something was rotten in the world of Wayne Enterprises.

* * *

"You surprise me, Bruce," Lucius said in earnest. "I had hoped you would've come back with a couple proposals from that party, but I never expected you to pull in a big fish like Queen Industries."

"Well, I do like to surprise people," the younger man said humbly, shrugging his shoulders in humility. "Though it does take two to tango."

Lucius raised an eyebrow in response. "How so?"

"Well, it was Ollie who approached me. I still had to feel him out to make sure everything was genuine, of course. He seemed pretty giddy about it."

The enthusiasm his old friend had began to diminish, the smile on his face weakening. "Oliver Queen is always giddy, Bruce," he told him humorously. "For your sake, this better not be a lemon you've brought to the Board. They're already a couple steps away from a full-on mutiny. Any more signs of weakness and they _will_ take action."

Bruce looked at Lucius seriously. While he was well aware of his current predicament, in no way was he taking it lightly. "Lucius, trust me on this one. I wouldn't have brought this to you if I didn't think it would be good."

"And on what grounds do you think Queen's proposal is 'good'?"

"For one, Queen Industries has never proposed a bad idea to us. Sure, some didn't pan out like we'd hoped, but each and every one of them had a ton of promise. In fact, we took some of those underperforming products and reinvented into whole new fields of research. It's a gift that keeps on giving."

That caused the dark-skinned man to blink his eyes. "I see your point. But there's always a first time for everything."

If there was a rejoinder Bruce wanted to use, he never got the chance. To be honest, he didn't have one; Lucius always had a knack for being realistic and just because Ollie had never caused a major screw-up for Wayne Enterprises didn't mean he wouldn't start now.

The big reason as to why the dark-haired man didn't get to respond to Lucius though, was because the doors to the boardroom were flung open and Oliver Queen swept in, arms still raised from pushing the doors out of his way. "Ladies, Gentlemen!" he proclaimed grandly. "Do I have a deal for you."

"Oliver Queen!" Dithers snarled. "How dare you barge in here, you—"

"Calm down, Dithers," Lincoln March interrupted, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "This isn't sacred ground or anything."

"And never will no matter how much you believe it," Ollie added before he plopped himself into a chair at the table. Behind him, some of his people were hurrying to their seats, carrying briefcases and a couple of plastic boxes with them.

"Ollie," Bruce said warningly.

"Right, right, no need to get off on the wrong foot," the blond man said.

"Too late for that," Dithers muttered heatedly.

"I mean, I could joke with all of you until the sun set," the billionaire continued, not even indicated that he heard the Cryptkeeper's displeasure. "But I understand everyone here has other obligations to attend to, so why don't we get down to business."

"By all means," Lucius replied calmly.

Ollie turned his head and stared at the other man. "I don't believe I've met you," he said slowly.

"Lucius Fox," Lucius introduced.

"That's right!" Ollie exclaimed, pounding one hand on top of the table. "You're the brains behind Bruce's operation!"

There were some chuckles to that remark. Bruce just smiled pleasantly. _Jackass._ "Anything else you want to say before you get to your presentation?" he asked in a sickening sweet voice.

Apparently Queen noticed the tone and realized that perhaps he had gone a little too far with his clown act. "Well, when you put it that way, let's get down to business." At this, one of the boxes was opened and several folders were placed on the table. One by one, they were passed to the Wayne Board members. "Now, I know some of you may be wincing from that mutant bat thing, but I promise you this has nothing to do with bats, or even animals." A serious look appeared on the blond man's face then, the man leaning forward in his seat as he clasped his hands together on top of the table. "What do any of you know about spines?"

"They're part of the nervous system," March answered immediately, his folder opened as he scanned over its contents.

"Correct! And I'll assume you know what happens when this body part is injured."

"Best case or worst case scenario?" March asked.

"You know. Well, what I and my incredible staff at Queen Industries have been working on can help spinal tissues heal when they're injured."

It was at this moment Bruce saw what Oliver was leading up to, a moment before the blond man said, "The current treatment for spinal tissue damage is to inject a steroid to the area. The most common one on the market is Decadron. The success rate has been provided for you in your packets."

"So you want us to make a competing steroid?" Dithers questioned, looking up from his folder.

Oliver shook his head. "No, I want to make something better. What I'm proposing is a collaborative effort between Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries to make a super-steroid."

Flipping a page, Bruce saw two diagrams on the following pages. The one on the left was of a normal steroid; in fact, it was the one Decadron used. On the other page showed a much more complexed steroidal structure. "What sort of benefits of using a super-steroid would there be," he heard March ask.

"Think about it, with a super-steroid you're looking at faster healing times, higher success rates, and possibly the prevention of paralysis."

"Not to mention greater strength and muscle-mass production," March retorted, dropping his folder on the table as he leaned back into his chair. "It looks more like a dirty athlete's wet dream than a cure."

"Oh, sure, there's always going to be some sort of abuse," Oliver acknowledged. "But would you seriously let that concern prevent you from allowing a little child to walk again? Heck, we could potentially reverse atrophy with this."

March thought about that point before nodding his acknowledgement of it. "Tell me then, why are you bringing this to us? I'm sure Queen Industries has all the funding and resources to make it on your own."

That's when a sardonic smile appeared on Oliver's face. "Unfortunately, my company wasn't built with medical research in mind. Wayne Enterprises, on the other hand, has some of the best facilities in the country, if not the world. There might be one in Canada, but I haven't really gone looking for it."

March raised an eyebrow. "So you want us to do all the research on this? I seem to recall we don't have a good history of that either."

"That was before you were even hired," Dithers jumped in. "And unlike that fiasco, I think there's something here worth pursuing."

Bruce had to do a double-take upon hearing that. Dithers had always been reluctant when it came to cutting-edge research and development. To see him jumping on board with Ollie's proposal was like seeing a blue moon. A quick glance to Lincoln March showed the younger man's face had darkened at those words.

Ollie was also taken back by the surprise sign of support. "Well, I can see you all have much to debate on this. My team here would be plenty happy to answer any questions you have on this."

There was movement next to Bruce, causing him to look to Lucius as he leaned towards him. "I think you landed us a good one," the older man whispered.

Bruce smiled in return. _Thank God._

* * *

Leslie removed the latex gloves she had been wearing, her treatment of Dent's thugs complete. There had been some serious injuries there, one of them had been at the brink of death. The doctor had gone straight to work, forcing her way through the chloroform-induced haze that had been present upon her emergence from unconsciousness.

Now, now she was in a room that while it had some luxuries, such as a bed and sporadic seating, it felt more like a cell. This was where she was to be kept until further notice. Hopefully she would be granted freedom from this place as soon as possible; she still had patients at the clinic that desperately needed to see her.

"Not bad," a certain rough voice commented from the doorway. "Very professional. I had been...concerned that we would have had problems with your cooperation."

"It doesn't matter who you are, an injured person is an injured person," she replied, tossing the latex gloves into the nearest wastebasket. Then she turned to fully face the disfigured man with the garish sense in fashion. "I would have treated them at my clinic regardless. My kidnapping was completely unneeded."

"I would beg to disagree," Two-face quipped, keeping his distance from her. In one hand, he fiddled with a coin, one she had seen him flipping earlier. "I have to admit, I am impressed with you."

"The feeling is not mutual. Now, you'll need to keep an eye on your men. They need to be checked at minimum once a day. Bradley will need to be checked hourly. He is still at risk for infection and is far from being out of the woods. Antibiotics will continue to serve for all of them for the time being."

"Duly noted," Two-face commented, not taking his eyes off her.

Not in the least bit intimidated or put off, Leslie held her ground. "If this is all, I would like to be returned to my clinic. I have other patients I need to see, and unlike your men, they had appointments scheduled in advance."

"You're a tough bird, aren't you?" the two-faced man said as he a took a step closer to her. "Tough, yet competent. A hard combination to find just about anywhere. I have to give credit where credit is due: you impressed me back there. Enough that I would like to extend our little arrangement to be more...permanent."

"Arrangement?" Leslie repeated, raising an eyebrow skeptically. She placed her hands on her hips and stated, "I would hardly call this an arrangement. Your men abducted me against my will. At this point, I would think that my staff would have already called the police and notified them of my absence. People are looking for me."

"Except they don't know where to look. Who knows who took you except, you, myself, and my men?" Two-face retorted. "Things are changing in this city, Dr. Thompkins. It's a gut feeling I'm having, you see, and I trust my gut. In the near future, more of my men will be hurt and they will need medical attention. Now that you've proven yourself, I do believe that anything less would be criminal."

While some would fall into despair, Leslie shook her head in disbelief. "In your line of work, there's always an increased risk of harm. There's nothing to be done about it, and holding me here until the next life-threatening injury will just be an exercise in self-fulfilling prophesy. You're always going to need more medical attention and if things are going to become violent in the immediate future, it's an absolute certainty."

"Then it's a good thing I have a competent doctor at my beck and call," her warden quipped back at her.

"And I continue to do so in protest," she almost spat back, but like he had said before, she was a professional. It didn't matter what the setting was.

"Well, since you feel so strongly about it, how about we flip for it?" Two-face suggested, ceasing to fiddle with his coin.

"You're going to flip a coin to determine my future?" Leslie deadpanned, her skepticism making a brutal return.

"It's simple," Two-face continued, ignoring her. "Good heads," he showed an unblemished side of the silver dollar, "I let you go. Bad heads," he revealed the scratched-up, scarred side of the silver dollar, "you stay here for as long as I require. Understand?"

"The only thing I don't understand is why you feel the need to flip a coin to decide someone's future." The good doctor had crossed her arms over her chest, her facial expression stony.

Instead of answering, Two-face gave a chuckle as he flipped the coin. Leslie's eyes were trained on the small object, watching like a hawk as it flew up into the air then descended. With practiced ease, Two-face caught it and slapped it onto the back of a hand. Lifting the other hand up, he revealed her fate.

"Bad heads" revealed itself cheekily and without remorse.

"Looks like I have an on-call doctor on hand," the crime lord chuckled.

"You can't be serious." The whole thing was ridiculous to the kidnapped woman. This man, the one who had been purported to have plunged the city in chaos was making decisions based on a flip of a coin. No, she couldn't be sure it was all decisions. Maybe this was just a way for him to taunt her, or worse, try to give then crush her hope. She had seen so much worse for something like that to work on her. "That's it then? A coin toss and you decide my fate?"

"It's how I make all my decisions," this two-faced fiend jested back. At least, he sounded like he was joking. The way his hand was handling that coin told a different story. "Life or death. Quick or slow. Freedom or bondage. Simple. Pure. The random coin toss. Unbiased and unprejudiced, there is no tipping the scales in anyone's favor. No bribery, extortion, or mercy. It's chance at its most perfect form."

"It's a crutch, that's what it sounds like." She said that bluntly, not about to be sucked in and placed at this delusion's mercy.

"That right? Then how do you explain why one man is born rich and another poor? Why some become famous and others forgotten to time? Why those who lead are either revered as great or despised as a tyrant? In the end, all it amounts to is chance, Dr. Thompkins. Simple, stupid, chance. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Your nihilism is very pessimistic. How did you ever come to that conclusion?" That whole speech was quite depressing, and how a man with a promising future like Harvey Dent had developed such views left so many questions in the air.

"From that tone, I've met a non-believer. No matter, it doesn't matter if you believe me or not." Two-face was not rising to her philosophical bait. "All that matters is your medical expertise. The moment you lose that, you're worthless to me. And if that happens, then we'll see what the coin has to say."

"You can threaten me all you like," Leslie stated. "I am not intimidated. And I never will be. I may not know what happened to you to bring you to this point, but what I do know is that I have seen so much worse out there. Unlike you, I still have hope that things will get better. I still believe in a better future, which is more than a man who has given up on everything."

"Those are some self-righteous words coming for a woman who is one mistake away from death," the crime lord growled.

"You think I'm afraid of death? No, not when there are so many things worse than death."

If this man would read between the lines, if he would inquire further, maybe, just maybe she might have a chance to talk some sense into him. If she could be granted that opportunity…

"I might know a few things that are worse than death." No, he wasn't following her trail. "Don't think because of your age that I won't visit onto you those things. Do what you do best, doctor, and you stand a good chance of living a very long time."

Two-face gave her no further chances to speak as he turned and began to leave. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, he paused and threw over his shoulder, "Oh, and don't get too comfortable. We'll be making a trip soon and you'll be coming with."

The door to Leslie's prison was closed.

* * *

"Everyone, stay together," Helena ordered, her eyes darting all over the room.

It wasn't easy keeping a group of nearly thirty kids together, not to mention behaving. In the classroom, she had been in an enclosed space so that limited what damage could be done. Today they weren't in the classroom, however. Today was the class field trip and they were all crowded into the main lobby of Leslie Thompkin's clinic.

"Jeanie, Caleb, stop that," she snapped, causing both kids to freeze in place. The two had been picking on each other all morning, especially on the school bus. Just because Helena had been at the front of the bus didn't mean she wasn't aware of what each and every student was doing. Consider it a perk from her night job.

Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired woman tried to calm herself. She knew it was going to be a tough day today. The kids were excited, which made them rambunctious, which made them difficult to manage. The room they were in was deafening from all of their excitable chatter. It was times like this she wished she could dose each and every one of them with Adderall, the parents be damned.

"Everyone, quiet down," she bellowed, causing all of the children to fall into a silent hush. Her dark eyes searched the startled faces of her students, looking for the one that was on the verge of rebelling, finding none. "Now, I want you all on your best behavior," she continued. "We are in a clinic with a lot of people who are not feeling good. From now on, we are to use our inside voices, understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Bertinelli," the kids answered, their voices combining into an odd-sounding choir.

Looking to her right, she saw a young woman smiling at all of them. This caused the dark-haired woman to frown. When she had arranged this trip, it had been with Leslie and she had been under the impression that Leslie would've led the tour. Who the heck was this lady? "Welcome, everyone!" the woman greeted them perkily. She even leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees as she smiled warmly at all of the children. "Are we ready to see the wonderful world of medicine?"

Slowly, Helena stepped away, making her way to the front desk. The kids seemed captivated by their tour guide, so she doubted they'd notice. Reaching the desk, Helena looked at the secretary on the other side, a lady that had seen her best days somewhere around the late-80's. "Excuse me," she said, gaining the woman's attention, "can you tell me where Dr. Thompkins is?"

"Dr. Thompkins is unavailable at the moment," the secretary answered. This only caused Helena to frown. She could count on one hand the number of times Leslie was "unavailable." In fact one such time occurred a couple years ago when they had done this tour. The older woman had called her to inform her she would be busy and unable to do the tour. Considering how Leslie took everything seriously, Helena doubted she had forgotten to call, or even left a message with the clinic.

"Okay," Helena replied, slowly nodding her head. Turning away, she noticed her class was filing toward the door which led into the clinic. There was a logjam in the doorway as the kids tried to push their way in all at the same time. This gave her enough time to walk right up to them and enter the hallway at the rear.

"This is where we take the sick people," the tour guide explained walking down the hallway. A few of the doors were closed, indicating there were patients in those rooms. When they reached one that was opened, the guide went inside, taking in a few of the students to explain what went on in there.

Though that left the rest of the students bored—which could only lead to trouble if not watched—Helena knew she had a few minutes before that would happen. In fact, Leslie's office was just around the corner at the end of the hall. Slipping away from the group, she headed down said hall and made the turn. Immediately to her right was Leslie's office, a tarp covering the doorway for some reason. There was a sticky note pasted onto it, a request to not enter the room on it. It was in chicken scrawl, a doctor's favorite handwriting, but something about it didn't sit right with her. Steeling her resolve, she lifted the tarp and peered through the open doorway.

The sight of the office caused the very blood in Helena's veins to freeze. The room was a mess, papers and folders scattered all over the floor, a door laying on the floor in front of the desk. A lamp was lying haphazardly on its side besides the remains of a broken coffee table. Nearby, a window was opened, a cool breeze blowing through it.

Jerking her head to a side, it was just pure luck that one of the nurses was stepping out of one of the room. "Hey!" Helena shouted, getting the nurse's attention. "Come here!"

"Unauthorized personnel are not allowed back here," the nurse immediately reprimanded as she walked towards the dark-haired woman. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Fine, sure, just look at this first," Helena responded, thrusting a hand into the room. When the nurse reached her, she went completely pale at the sight. "Oh my god," she gasped, a hand shooting up to her mouth.

"We need to call the police," the schoolteacher said. "I don't think this is Leslie being unavailable."

Immediately, the nurse darted off down the hall, heading towards the lobby. In the meantime, Helena slowly stepped into the office. It was probably a bad thing considering if she so much as left a hair here, she'd be fingered for her involvement in what had to be a kidnapping. Eyes leaping from place to place, she sought out anything that stuck out to her, something that might provide some kind of clue as to what happened and who had been here with Leslie.

"Ms. Bertinelli!" a young voice cried out. Turning around, Helena saw Jeanie a few steps outside of the office, her face on the verge of breaking out into ears. "Caleb's being mean to me!" she tattled.

Helena fought the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed her warnings had gone unheeded by her troublesome kids. Stepping out of the room and making sure to slide the tarp over the opened doorway behind her, she then kneeled down to Jeanie's level, placing a comforting hand on the little girl's shoulder. "Tell me what happened," she said soothingly.

Jeanie immediately spilled her guts, mostly about how Caleb cut in line to go into the patient room when it was definitely her turn. Helena listened partially, mostly because the rest of her mind was running through different scenarios of what needed to be done about Leslie's disappearance. No matter what she thought of, though, every single one of them ended the same. A call needed to be made and one person aware of what happened.

Then whoever did this was going to wish they had never been born.


	11. The Courtesy Call

The Courtesy Call

Gordon had been on the roof of the GCPD for about ten minutes. He stood by the Bat Signal, though it wasn't turned out. It seemed as if he had been debating whether to turn it on or not for awhile, at least until the first cigarette hit his lips. He was on a short break and just happened to be standing next to the hulking spotlight.

Standing a short distance behind the commissioner, Batman stared at his back.

He hadn't been there for long. He just knew when Gordon liked to toss aside his nearly-finished cigarette. There was a sigh from the man, one of fatigue. Flicking away his body, he turned around, only to instantly jump at the sight of the vigilante.

"Damn it, will you stop that!" he exclaimed, a hand hovering over his heart.

"I thought you'd be used to it," Batman replied evenly.

"No one gets used to it, you blockhead," the older man retorted, straightening out his posture. "I suppose you're here for something."

"Last night, there was a deal in the quarry outside of Gotham. Harvey's gang was there to interrupt it right before they were killed by a rockslide. I want to know what the GCPD is doing."

Gordon gazed at him quietly before he coughed, a result of his smoking history no doubt. "The GCPD isn't doing anything about that," he informed him.

The dark-clad man's mask hid his surprise. Of all the answers, that was one he didn't expect. Because of the presence of Harvey's goons, he had assumed there'd be some police presence.

The commissioner seemed to know his feelings as he continued, "The quarry is outside of the GCPD's jurisdiction. The state pretty much has control of that crime scene. I've offered local assistance, but you know how those state-ys are. Arrogant little pissants."

In the meantime, Gordon pulled out his carton of cigarettes and pulled one out, shoving the carton back into his coat pocket. Lighting up, he took a drag, breathing out the smoke a moment later. "Since you seem pretty familiar with all this, I'm assuming you're involved somehow."

Batman nodded. "I was there at the transaction. There were two groups, one with some of Gotham's small timers. I IDed Dan Krueger and Edward Foster."

Gordon chuckled. "You weren't kidding about the small timers. I'll see about picking those two up and seeing what they know."

"Don't bother with Krueger. He died in the rockslide."

"Oh. We'll still interview his friends and family. They might have an idea of what he was up to."

It didn't go without saying how unlikely that was. Still, it paid to be thorough. "The other group was comprised of legitimate businessmen. All of them had ties to Ajax Chemicals."

"Can't say that I know them," the commissioner admitted, bringing his cigarette up to his lips for another drag. "I don't think they have a plant in Gotham."

"They don't, but I looked into what they manufacture." This was the part that Batman didn't like. "Ajax specializes in the production of rare chemicals."

"Not the sort found in household cleaners." Gordon lowered his cigarette, smoke pouring out of his nostrils as he breathed out. "Tell me you got what they were buying."

"Unfortunately, no. Foster's group managed to get away with whatever he was buying."

"Damn it. So there's who knows what running around the streets of Gotham." Gordon's eyes hardened. "I'll have every cop on the lookout for Foster. If you ID anyone else, you let me know."

Batman answered with a nod. Gordon tilted his head back, once again taking another drag. Turning away, the vigilante headed to the edge of the roof, bouncing up onto the ledge. The commissioner was saying something, but he ignored it, leaping off the ledge and dropping off the building. Activating the glider mode of his cape, he soared away, flying over one building and then another. It was the next building he came to a landing on.

Letting go of his cape and letting it fall over his shoulders, the dark-clad man walked over to the roof's edge, looking out into the streets. Batgirl would be here in a moment, so he'd wait for her.

Apparently, there was someone else wanting to meet with him.

He felt her presence a full minute before she spoke. Impressively, she didn't make much sound on the gravel of the roof, a noticeable difference when they first met. "Batman," Huntress greeted him, from over his right shoulder.

"Huntress," he returned. It had been a couple nights since they last worked together, but that wasn't anything strange. After all, the dark-haired woman had other obligations.

"We have a problem," the purple-clad vigilante said then, gaining Batman's attention. Turning his head to look at her, he immediately saw a troubled expression on her face. "I'm not sure if you've heard or not, but Leslie Thompkins is missing."

The very blood in Batman's veins froze. Immediately he was fully facing her, closing the short distance between them. "How long?" he demanded.

"I found out this morning and have been trying to get a hold of you since. I'm guessing she was taken sometime last night, or very early morning. There was a struggle in her office, so she put up a fight. I didn't see any blood, but that doesn't mean she isn't hurt."

"Any indication to who did it?"

"None that I could see."

The Dark Knight fell silent. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest, though he did his best not to show any other signs of stress other than his demanding questions to Huntress. His respirations were picking up, but he held them in check. Leslie was gone, being held by some thug.

He wouldn't live to see the morning.

That thought immediately was like someone dousing him with cold water. A wave of nausea hit him, threatening to overwhelm him. It wasn't often Batman felt this way, but if his experience indicated anything, this sort of attack only happened when he had thoughts of killing. This wasn't the first time he had that thought, only to have his body respond this way.

Thankfully, it had the benefit of calming him down. First thing was first, he needed to figure out who had taken Leslie. Money was obviously not a factor considering the clinic she ran and where it was located. There would be no ransom demand. On that note, it wouldn't be family related either. It wasn't well-known the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Leslie Thompkins.

That meant the most likely reason for her capture must have been her medical knowledge. Someone was hurt and their perp had sought her out to help their friend. Considering the struggle, this person most likely just took Leslie rather than explain the situation. If Leslie knew someone was hurt, she would've gone without coercion.

So who did that leave? People were hurt every day, so the possibilities were limitless. On the other hand, honest people knew they just needed to show up at the clinic for treatment, that that eliminated a lot of possibles right there. That just left the unsavory. Not the punks on the lower rungs, since they would've known about Leslie's policy.

That meant the perpetrator was someone of high standing in the criminal world—a gang leader. The Dark Knight felt his hands clench tightly into fists.

Last night had been the rockslide in the quarry. What if someone had survived and managed to crawl back to their gang? That left three distinct possibilities. Scratch that, two. The Ajax group was all accounted for and none of their men survived. Eddie Foster's group had though.

The same was possible for the Two Ton gang.

Because Foster's location was unknown at the moment, that just left the Two Ton gang. It wouldn't be hard to find them and they were just as easily a good place to start. It looked like it was finally time to take Harvey Dent on head-to-head.

And that two-faced son of a bitch better pray he hadn't hurt Leslie.

* * *

The wind was blowing gently, yet it brought a slight chill to it. Standing on top of the designated building, Black Canary looked out into the city, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets as she waited.

Katana and Manhunter were here too, mostly for solidarity. Their presence was needed, but as teammates they made sure to do as much together as possible. That and they had someone else with them they didn't fully trust.

Green Arrow was lounging on the ground, his back resting against the building's ledge, one leg sprawled out in front of him while the other was bent at the knee. He had his bow in front of him, the blond man making adjustments to the string. Over and over he would pull on the cord and release it, listening to its thrumming. After that he would either tighten it or loosen it—at least that's what Black Canary thought he was doing—and do it again.

It had been interesting to watch at first, then it grew old, and now it was slowly beginning to annoy. The blonde vigilante wasn't going to say anything though, for all she knew this was what he did to stay at optimal capacity. If he needed to fine-tune his weapons, then so be it.

A clock tower stood out in the distance and that was how Canary kept track of the time. Glancing to it, she took note of the time and felt slightly antsy. It was just about time for this meeting to happen.

Eyes darting over to Green Arrow, she saw the man put his bow down on the ground next to him and then pull at the left glove he wore. He must have had a watch on him 'cause he only stared at his wrist for a couple seconds before pulling the glove back on. Grabbing his bow, he stood up and copied Canary's action, staring out into the city. "So, is this how you normally meet up with him?" he asked.

"Not really," Black Canary answered, not looking at the archer. "Most times we just run into him or there's a city-wide crisis we all charge into."

"Oh, so you freelance." Green Arrow looked towards the blonde. "You know, I wouldn't mind if you ladies decided to patrol Star City."

"Ugh," Manhunter groaned softly. It was barely audible and Black Canary just caught it. Considering she stood a good distance away from her, it was doubtful Green Arrow heard her. It still didn't stop the blonde woman from imagining Manhunter rolling her eyes.

Canary just ignored the come-on. To be honest, if it weren't for this meeting, she'd be out with Oliver Queen. The guy was fun to be around and having dinner with him wasn't the most repulsive idea she had heard. He just wasn't as important as some people in this city, something that would undoubtedly bruise his ego.

Another look to the clock showed it was past time for the meeting.

This did not go unnoticed by the archer. "Looks like he's running a little late," he commented.

Again, she didn't respond. It was most likely there was some mugging or rapist doing their thing and Batman was busy handling that. It'd only take a few more minutes was all.

Around fifteen minutes after time, she was beginning to doubt that was the reason.

By now, Green Arrow was looking miffed. "You're sure he's coming?" he demanded, his irritation palpable. "We've been waiting here for a while."

"He said he would," Black Canary said, finally looking towards the green-clad man.

"He better because I have better things to do. I'm sure you ladies are the same. Say, if he is a no show, maybe we should hit up one of the clubs, get our grooves on."

Seriously? He was hitting on them now? While the archer wasn't wrong about having other things to do, which was probably the most annoying part, his professionalism left something to be desired. If Batman left them hanging, there was going to be hell to pay.

As it so happened, someone decided to volunteer for that position.

A few cars suddenly drove by, causing Black Canary to look down on them. The most striking thing about them was that they were two different colors going right down the middle. One side was black while the other was purple. Eyes locked on them, the blonde watched as they drove up the street.

"Interesting cars," Green Arrow remarked.

However, alarms were going off in Canary's head. "Birds," she spoke loudly, causing the other two women to immediately come to her side. The moment Katana and Manhunter were next to her, she could feel them stiffening. "Those are Two-Face's cars."

"Two-what's?" Green Arrow asked.

"We need to see what they're up to," Manhunter immediately said, ignoring the archer.

There was no question they had to. Looking over to Green Arrow, Black Canary told him, "We have to look into this. If you want to hang around here, by all means." Then she directed to her team, "Let's go, Birds."

* * *

This was all silly.

It was supposed to be a courtesy call, nothing more. A "Hey, how ya doing? I'm Green Arrow and I'm hunting down a deranged mad scientist." That was all it was supposed to be.

So why was it Green Arrow was leaping from rooftop to rooftop—without a safety line, mind you—instead of doing what he came here to do?

The rather sexy ladies that called themselves the Bird of Prey had been freaked about something. One moment they went from brooding all attractive-like to scouring the city like hawks. They had up and left him behind as if he weren't all that important.

Landing hard on the next rooftop, his legs nearly jiggling from the aftershock of the landing itself, the Emerald Archer ran at full speed, reaching the next ledge. As he looked over the edge, he saw another alleyway, something that Gotham seemed to have one too many of.

"Where the hell did they go?" he muttered under his breath before he backed away. Once he reached a satisfactory distance, he took off running once more, leaping up at the last moment so that one foot could plant itself on top of the ledge. Pushing off of it, Green Arrow launched himself over the alleyway, landing on the next building over.

It was then he caught sight of movement. A building ahead, someone was leaping, much like he had been doing. They were definitely in some dark clothing with something yellow giving it some flair. That had better be that Black Canary chick.

Running full blast, he launched himself across the roof and again jumped another alleyway. He kept this up until he finally caught up with the Birds of Prey. They were all crouching behind a ledge, looking over it. As quietly as he could, he crept up behind him.

Now, the blond-haired man was the first to admit he wasn't the most stealthy of people, especially when walking over gravel. The Asian chick—Katana, he thought—heard him approach, causing her to whip herself around, a hand grabbing at the hilt of her sword. This in turn, caused the other ladies to jerk around, prepared to fight.

The moment the three saw him, they all relaxed, Katana and the brunette turning back to what they found to be so interesting. "What are you doing here?" Black Canary hissed, her eyes blazing behind her mask.

"Killing some time," Green Arrow replied softly as he came to kneel down on the other side of Katana. Looking over the ledge, he saw those oddly-colored cars parked below. "What's going on here?"

From where he was looking, there didn't appear to be much. These guys in weird clothes were just milling around, talking amongst themselves in a rather large parking lot. It was basically the back alley where large trucks brought in and took out large shipments. It left a lot to be desired.

"It's nothing you need to worry about," the brunette chick responded harshly. "This is a Gotham matter, so you can back off."

"Hey, evil-doing is evil-doing, no matter the city," Green Arrow retorted, anger leaking into his voice. He really didn't care much for this vigilante. She may have had a nice body, but she was definitely lacking a personality.

Then, as it so happened, more of those half-colored cars appeared, pulling to a stop next to the others. Even more of those goons crawled out of the cars, their group becoming quite large indeed. "Besides, you may want some extra hands for this one," he continued, eyes narrowing on the punks. "I've got two."

"If that's what you want, fine," Black Canary said, cutting off the archer and "Manhunter's" pissing contest. Green Arrow couldn't help but appreciate her powerful legs, coiled underneath her. It was hard not to admire them. "These are men working for Harvey Two-Face, a new mob boss. No one gathers their boys like this without preparing for something."

That was true. Green Arrow pulled his gaze from the men and looked around the area. "Well, considering that building there is a bank, I'm guessing that's where they're going."

"Why so many men though?" Katana questioned.

That's when Manhunter perked her head up. "I know this bank. It's a Mob bank. Two-Face must be trying to make a big withdrawal and sent in a lot of muscle to do it."

Green Arrow cocked his head to a side as he looked over to the brunette. "Big withdrawal? Really?"

"Bite me, Robin Hood."

"Hush," Black Canary reprimanded them. "They're starting to move." True to her words, these Two-Face guys were walking away from their cars, heading towards the back entrance to the bank.

"Time for the action," Manhunter spoke before she stood up, holding her weird-looking staff. Then out of nowhere, a laser fired from one end, a beam racing towards the pavement between the men and the bank. An explosion rang out from the moment of the collision, causing Green Arrow's eyes to widen even as the thugs below cried out in surprise.

Before he knew it, Katana and Black Canary had already leapt over the ledge, dropping to the ground below. They both went into rolls the moment they touched the ground, ending up on their feet in front of a couple of the men. Katana stayed crouched as she lashed out with one of her legs, kicking the legs out from underneath one of the men and dropping him to the pavement. Her sword sheath slapped the man in the man in the face as she spun around and he fell, the blow proving to be effective as he ended up a heap of body parts.

Black Canary, on the other hand, had shot up to her feet and was landing a vicious blow to her opponent's face. Her next move was lost to the archer as he saw Manhunter join the fray, leaving him all alone on the roof.

Oh, like hell was he going to let a bunch of women have all the fun.

Seeing the thugs were coming to their senses from the ambush and pulling out their guns, the blond man knew exactly who he was going after. Grabbing hold of his bow, Green Arrow reached over his shoulder and pulled out an arrow. He knocked it against the string of the bow before he leaped out into the air. Taking aim as he began to drop, he fired his first arrow right at a man taking aim at one of the Birds, the arrow impaling him in the shoulder, going in one end and out the other. The guy screamed as blood squirted out, dropping his gun as he crumpled to the ground.

Without a moment's hesitation, Green Arrow had another arrow knocked to his bow. The second he had his target, he let it fly, hitting this one right through his hand and knocking the gun out of the punk's grasp.

That was when the archer landed on the roof of one of the cars. Immediately, he sprang off of it, flipping head over feet as he adjusted his grip on his bow from the middle to one of its ends. His feet hit the ground hard right in front of one of the thugs, who was turning to face him.

His arms blurred in an instant. Swinging the bow, he smashed it against the side of the man's head, snapping it to a side. Going into a backswing, he landed that as well, knocking his opponent back the other way. The archer then lunged forward, ramming the far end of the bow into the man's gut, knocking the air out of him.

There wasn't much left to do with this one. The moment Green Arrow backed off, he collapsed to the pavement, his momentarily lack of air causing his body to shut down into unconsciousness.

Daring to a side, Green Arrow held his bow low as he approached another thug. The guy was totally unaware of him until the Emerald Archer swung his weapon and swept his legs out from under him. Immediately arcing his bow up, he then brought it down, slamming it onto the back of the thug's head in midair. By the time his face crashed onto the ground, he was out cold.

Jerking his head to look for another unfortunate sap, Green Arrow then saw the Birds of Prey in action. They were holding their own pretty damn well, he had to admit. He even wondered if they needed his help here. Katana had yet to draw her sword, but she was putting the hurt on these bozos with quick strikes to very sensitive parts. She would dart in, throwing a fist that caused her foe to scream wildly before she delivered a chop to the back of their neck to shut him up. Manhunter was spinning this way and that, her staff nearly knocking several heads off with each spin.

Then there was Black Canary. Green Arrow wasn't sure what all the moves she was doing were called, but it was obvious she knew some sort of martial arts. She took on each of the gun-toting goons head on, punching and kicking them into submission, using each of them as a human shield to keep from getting shot. Her blond hair fanned out behind her as she would spin and lunge. Hell, if it weren't for Dinah, the blond man would've seriously consider getting her number.

Then again, what did he have to lose?

The squealing of tires caught his attention then, causing Green Arrow to turn around. Two large trucks had made sharp turns as they entered the small parking lot. However, instead of slowing down, they sped up, charging right at the little brawl in front of them.

Immediately, the Emerald Archer was holding his bow sideways, two arrows pulling back against the cord. Each arrow was pointing in a different direction, forming a ninety degree angle with each other, his arm running right up the forty five degree mark.

A second later, he let the arrows fly. Since the trucks were going to be driving right by him, he had the perfect sight of their side. His two arrows hit the first truck on the front and back tires, blowing them out. Immediately the truck swerved before tipping over, falling onto its side and sliding across the ground until it came to a stop.

The second truck roared by, picking up speed. Green Arrow reached back for two more arrows before he saw Manhunter pull away from the fight, coming to stand right in front of the truck. She was looking at it dead-on, the only reason why the blond-haired man didn't shout for her to move. Hefting her staff up and aiming one end at it, she fired one of her blasts right at the charging vehicle, hitting it at the bottom part of the grill.

This caused two things to happen. First, the front of the truck seemed to stop right then and there. However, momentum forced the back of it to continue moving, causing it to buck up into the air. The second thing was the explosion at the front of the truck caused it to go sailing up into the air, flipping end over end. Manhunter craned her neck as she watched it fly over her head. The truck landed on its roof, screeching across the pavement until it stopped.

Not bad.

Of course, this fight wasn't simple enough to just stop there.

More cars suddenly came pouring into the parking lot, though they stopped far away from the action itself. Car doors flew open and more of these Two-Face goons flew out, keeping cover behind the cars and car doors.

There was only one reason for this and that was these new thugs were going to use their vehicles as cover while they shot this alley up like a shooting gallery. Damn it all!

Immediately, Green Arrow took refuge behind the closest car, knocking his bow with an arrow. Peering around the corner, he could see several guns appearing, aiming right at them.

And then came the second ambush.

Before any shots were fired, something flashed in the light of the lampposts. Several cries of pain startled the archer as he saw several men suddenly jerk back, seeming to vanish behind their respective covers.

Then a woman in purple and black dropped in from the sky. Because of the cars, she seemed to disappear from sight, but the screams of men being assaulted rang out, followed by one guy being thrown up over one of the cars.

 _So this is the cavalry_.

Returning the arrow he had back to the quiver, he pulled out a different one, this one with a rounded end rather than an arrowhead. Even as the purple-clad woman fought, several of the new thugs fled away, heading further into the parking lot, but facing her direction. This left them blind to the fight behind them.

Pulling back the arrow, Green Arrow stood up and fired it, watching it as it hit one man in the back. The moment it made contact, a large net exploded out of the rounded it, wrapping around the man and two nearby ones. All three cried out as they fell to the ground, squirming beneath the net.

Now this was what Green Arrow called a trick arrow. Though he had your normal, run-of-the-mill arrows, he had plenty of others with all sorts of different features. It added some pizazz to his nights, not to mention made a lot of criminals look rather foolish. These Gotham goons wouldn't be any different than the ones in Star City.

Of course, the other thugs quickly noticed their fallen friends and turned right back to Green Arrow. Instantly the archer had another arrow ready to go. He never got a chance to use it as the men seemed to stop mid-turn, looking upwards at something.

Then they started to scream, right before something big and black crashed on top of them. Even from this distance, Green Arrow could hear the snapping of bones and even louder blood-curling screams.

At first the archer pulled back tightly on his bow, taking aim at this new arrival. He even had one eye closed for better focus. However, he didn't fail to notice the horns of this one's head, or the flash of a bat symbol on its chest as it moved to the next terrified thug. Slowly opening up his eye, Green Arrow felt realization dawning on him.

So this was the Batman.

 _Nice entrance._

Changing his target, Green Arrow took aim at a thug that had come out into the open, trying to get away from the purple vigilante. Unfortunately, he had held his position too long. Even though there was a fight going on behind him, he had somehow forgotten it in the heat of the moment. That was the only excuse he could make as someone rammed him into, arms wrapping around him as the archer was tackled.

In his surprise, Green Arrow lost his grip on his arrow, sending it flying.

And because of the tackle, the arrow had a new target.

Even as he hit the ground, a look of horror appear on Green Arrow's face, his arrow racing towards the unprotected back of the Batman.

* * *

Swinging her leg, Black Canary delivered a crushing kick to the side of her opponent's face, sending him crashing face first to the ground. Dropping down, she landed on her feet, crouching slightly to absorbed the impact.

The number of Two-Face's men were steadily falling into the single digits. While it had been unexpected that reinforcements had shown up, Manhunter and Green Arrow had disposed of the big threats in the trucks. Huntress and Batman's arrival had been timely as well. It seemed this fight would be theirs.

And that's when she saw it.

She saw Batman cracking the skulls of two men against each other, something that made her internally wince. Green Arrow was standing, bow drawn, and aiming at someone on Huntress' side of the skirmish.

That's when one of Two-Face's goons came charging in Green Arrow's blind spot and tackled him, knocking the archer off his feet and subsequently releasing his arrow right at Batman.

Black Canary's stomach dropped. The world slowed down, time seeming to stop completely. The arrow inched towards Batman's unguarded back, the Dark Knight oblivious to its approach. There was nothing she could do, or anyone for that matter.

Then, seeming as if to sense it, with unnatural quickness Batman turned around. Time began to speed up. The dark-clad vigilante's arm was a blur and the next thing anyone knew, Batman had caught the arrow with his bare hand, the arrowhead less than an inch from his face.

Mind equal blown.

From where she stood, Black Canary could see Green Arrow and his attacker on the ground. Both men seemed to be staring in shock at the Dark Knight, right until the green-clad vigilante suddenly jerked his arm back, ramming his elbow into the thug's face, knocking him off of him. Batman, in the meantime, had turned away, just in time to see a goon rushing him. The arrow spun in his black gloved hand until it was pointing in the opposite direction of how he held it previous.

Sidestepping his charging foe, Batman then stabbed the arrow right into the man's shoulder blade, causing him to scream wildly. The vigilante then kicked the back of the man's knee, causing it to buckle. A quick chop to the back of his neck rendered him unconscious before he hit the ground.

The exchange couldn't have taken more than ten seconds, tops, but at long last Black Canary's heart began to beat again. She even released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Shaking her head, she rid herself of her daze and turned to rejoin the fight.

As it turned out, Manhunter and Katana were finishing off the last two on their side, dropping the men the moment the blonde vigilante looked at them. Looking towards Huntress, she had just finished with dispatching her last man as well, crushing his face into the window of one of the cars.

Yet, in spite of all of the unconscious men, Batman didn't seem to be finished. In fact, he stormed right up to a net that had three squirming men in it. Where that had come from, Canary wasn't sure.

Pulling out one of his batarangs, Batman ripped the net opened and grabbed one of the men, hauling him up onto his feet. The truck lying on its side was right next to them and Batman slammed the guy into its roof. "Where is she?!" he roared at the goon as he cried out.

When the man merely whimpered, Batman slammed his fist on a spot next to his face. There was a small dent left behind as the vigilante pulled his fist back. "I'm not going to ask again; where's Dr. Thompkins?"

"I don't know!" the thug shouted. That proved to be a mistake as Batman delivered a devastating punch, crushing his nose as blood spurted out. He screamed in pain, only to be silenced as the Dark Knight punched him again, this time to his side. Even from where she stood, Canary could hear a rib crack, causing her to cringe.

A more pitiful cry came from the goon followed by a moan. "You have twenty three more ribs I can break," Batman said lowly. "Play dumb any more and the next one might pierce your lung."

Slowly, Black Canary edged her way towards the interrogation. There was no telling where this was going and she wanted to be within distance if someone needed to intervene. As she pulled near Green Arrow, the archer turned her and asked incredulously, "Is this how he usually is?"

"Only when he's mad," she replied with caution in her voice.

"Geez, remind me not to piss him off."

As it turned out, there were two other men in the net. One of them made themselves known after his friend failed to tell Batman what he wanted, earning him two more broken ribs. "The boss has her!" he cried out.

This earned him a deadly glare from Batman. Dropping his victim, he approached the rat, kneeling down next to him. "Where's Dent hiding?"

"I don't know, honest!" Immediately, Batman raised his fist. "I'm telling ya the truth! The boss doesn't stay in the same place twice! He's always moving around. We don't even know where he's gonna be until he calls!"

Batman held his fist where it was, but he didn't drop it either. "Where was his last location?"

"I don't know that either. None of us do. The only person that would know is his right hand man and that's because he goes where the boss goes."

"Who is this man?"

"Some guy from Thorne's outfit. That's all I know, man."

Batman threw the punch. However, this one was more generous than the one thrown at the currently quivering thug against the truck. This punch knocked the informant out in one hit, the only thanks he would get.

Then, the Dark Knight stood, his eyes turning to look right at Black Canary and Green Arrow. "Who are you?"

* * *

Batman stared at the green archer. So this was who Huntress told him wanted to meet him.

He was well built, his arms bulging with muscles. His blond beard was the only bit of color aside from green, which made it stick out. Faintly, the vigilante felt he had seen the beard before.

The man held his bow in front of him, both hands on top of one end while the other stuck into the ground. He held himself confidently.

"Sorry about that arrow," he apologized. "I wasn't aiming for you."

 _How comforting._

"I'm told you wanted to see me," he instead spoke.

That made the archer quiet for a moment before he nodded his head. "Down to business then, I can do that. I just wanted to let you know I'm looking for a man in your town."

"Who is he?"

"Goes by the name Achilles Milo. He's a crackpot that sees himself as a scientist—the mad kind if you catch my drift. His MO is to pick up stray animals and experiment on them."

So, this Green Arrow traveled all the way to Gotham over animals? There had to be more to this than that. Taking his silence as permission to continue, the man said, "Right now, he has a fascination with bats. In fact, he's been turning other animals into those giant bats you had to deal with."

 _That_ got his attention. "He has the Man-Bat serum," he stated lowly.

"That's right. He was using it all up in Star City. I was tracking him down when he decided to head here. He's somewhere in Gotham and those Bird girls have proof."

At this, Batman looked to the Birds of Prey. "There's an abandoned vet clinic outside of Gotham," Black Canary informed him. "It was full of this Milo guy's experiments."

Just great, another problem that needed to be fixed. Between Dent's crime spree, Leslie's kidnapping, the secret meeting at the quarry, and now a potential return of the Man-Bats, it seemed as if everything was rushing together to make a hundred of these problems one giant one.

"You know, it sounds like this guy and the Birds are handling this," Huntress spoke up then. Looking to her, she continued, "We still need to find Leslie. You and I both know the Birds are more than capable of handling this Milo guy."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Green Arrow muttered.

Batman got what Huntress was getting at. Perhaps she was right too. "Keep me up to date with the investigation," he said to Black Canary. "I want to know what this Milo plans to do with the Man-Bat Serum."

"You got it," Black Canary responded.

Looking to Green Arrow, he then said, "You know the most about Milo. If you want to help the Birds, fine. Just don't shoot any more of those arrows at me."

"I told you I was sorry!"

"Holding a grudge much?" Huntress remarked, a smirk on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Perhaps a little, not that Batman would admit to it. Thankfully, Black Canary intervened to get the conversation back on track. "Before we go through any more groveling, has it occurred to anyone that we don't know how this Milo guy got his hands on the Man-Bat serum? It's not exactly something you'd leave lying around for anyone to find."

That was an excellent point. Up until now, the dark-clad man had never heard of a Dr. Milo. There was no connection between him and Kirk Langstrom, so it was unlikely the tormented scientist had sent a sample to Milo. It was also troubling that this man was also altering the mutagen to affect other species. It was clear he was experimenting, trying to come up with all sorts of different strains…

Wait, different strains. There had been other versions of Man-Bats, some that had exotic abilities unassociated with Langstrom's formula. But Batman had found the man who had done those alterations, though he had found it curious there had been a lack of biological research in his background.

Yet, what if it hadn't been the mastermind? What if that had been outsourced to Milo? After all, he had admitted to using others to fill in the gaps that he himself did not have the proper knowledge of.

The more he thought about it, the more it was beginning to make too much sense. Unable to help himself, a snarl appeared on Batman's face as he growled, "Strange."

That earned him the attention of the other vigilantes. "You mean that shrink guy that's in Arkham?" Huntress questioned, giving him a curious look.

Batman gave her a sharp nod. "He's the only one that had access to the Man-Bat serum and since he has little to no experience in Langstrom's field, he would've outsourced it to someone else that did. This entire thing reeks of his stench."

"It's gonna take a lot more than some suspicion of yours to link this to this Strange guy," Green Arrow spoke up.

That was where he was wrong. No doubt if Batman brought this up to him, Strange would gloat about it. His fists tightened. It seemed before this was over, he was going to have to pay the deranged psychiatrist a visit.


	12. A Second Deal

A Second Deal

 _Several hours earlier…_

He could have sworn there were more of them. Eh, sounds like someone got cold feet or they were dead. If it was the former, well, that needed to be taken care of.

Without commenting on it, he said, "I got something coming in tonight. I need for you to pick it up, and to be careful with it."

"This isn't going to be like what happened at that quarry, right?" suave mustache man, or Eddie (was it Eddie?) piped up. "We've already lost Dan. He did not deserve what happened to him."

"He should have been looking where he was going and who he was fightin'," Mr. Jones rumbled, his voice almost a growl. "It's his own fault, what happened to him."

"All that matters is you got that shipment I wanted," he cut in, interrupting this oh so drama-filled moment to keep things where they needed to be. On to business. "Kudos for bringing my own money back. All that we needed to spend was poor Dan's life."

Dan was the short one, wasn't he?

"Besides," he continued, "the price we have to pay now will pay out. We have more important things to be worrying about. Now, Ed, this won't be at a quarry this time. It's going to be in a more familiar place. The docks. We all know the docks, right?"

Yep, he could see Ed or Eddie or whatever relaxing slightly. Because, yeah, they all knew the docks. They all have had to have done a deal at the docks by now. It was practically a rite of passage to do one there.

Of course, then Eddie has to get his panties in a twist when he suddenly tensed up. "Wait, doesn't Two-face practically own the docks? Christ, scratch the docks, the whole port. How do we know he doesn't know that something is up? We're going to be doing a deal on his turf, aren't we?"

Eddie here had a very good point. Two-face did have the port in his back pocket. He would know about anything coming in and leaving the city by ship. Yet, a ship is how he was bringing this next shipment in. Because that was how it turned out.

"I wouldn't be too concerned about it. There's no way Dent knows about this," he replied, trying to soothe some nerves down. "I'd be more surprised if he did. Let me tell you this, I'm not ready to let him know what's up. Yet. Though, if I had a choice, I'd rather let him know what he's up against myself than letting him find out by himself."

"But Two-face's not dumb. He's been taking this whole city for what it's worth and no one's stopped him yet," Eddie protested.

"Grow some balls or shut up," Mr. Jones growled, actually growled, at the fast talker. "If the boss says that that two-faced creep doesn't know about this, than he doesn't know about it."

"Mr. Jones has the right of it," he confirmed, nodding his head. Pulling out a slip of paper, he turned to the other two men he had brought in here for his war council. There was tall guy, or Mitch as he had learned his name, looking all indifferent and over there was Dicky with his teeth problem, that problem being they were too visible for his liking. "I'm gonna let you two handle this one." He held the slip of paper out to them, Mitch being the one who came over and retrieved it. "On that, you have the names of the goods, and I want you to check to make sure they're the right ones, and where you need to go to pick it up."

Mitch, being the poker player he was, gave no sign that he thought anything was off. The tall man simply read what was on the paper before looking down at him and nodding. Good, some competent people around here who could follow instructions. That's what he was looking for.

With that taken care of, he looked back over at Eddie, who looked like he was sulking, and became contemplative. "You know something, Ed?" he asked after a moment. "You're right, we can't take Dent too lightly. Even if what I said is true and he doesn't know about this deal, we can't really risk it, can we?"

Eddie nodded his head, looking all vindicated as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"So, we might as well take a page out of Dent's book, shouldn't we?" He leaned back into his armchair, crossing one leg over the other as he placed his elbows on the chair's arms, tapping his fingers against one another thoughtfully. "Since he likes doing things with twos, let's do that as well. We'll draw his attention away from the docks with something that he can't ignore. Even if he did, it'll do some damage to him so he'll have to do some damage control. So long as he's doing that, he won't be able to come after us soon after."

"You have something in mind?" Eddie asked, frowning. Whether the slick gangster approved of this plan or not was unknown to him, but it didn't really matter, did it? It wasn't Ed here who was in charge.

"It's simple. I'll let go of my leash on the Skullz gang and let them run wild for a bit. Let them have some fun. It'll just look like random gang violence, and more importantly, it's going to be loud. No one is going to miss it," he answered. "Mr. Jones?"

"Yeah?" the large, trenchcoat and fedora-wearing man grunted.

"I'd like for you to take the lead on it. Show those young punks how to do things old school."

"You're speaking my language now," Mr. Jones replied. If he could see Mr. Jones' face from where he was sitting, he bet there would be a very big smile on that mug.

"Let the sun go down first, then have a night on the town," he recommended. Turning to Ed, "As for you, since safety is so important to you, you'll stay here and keep me company. Does that sound agreeable to everybody?"

There were grunts and nods, though Eddie didn't look too happy about having some action himself. Or maybe it was because he had to share a room with him. Could be either or. Not that it mattered.

"Then hop to it, boys. We're closer to the finish line than anybody else knows," he announced, letting the light of the room reflect off the dark features of his face.

* * *

 _One hour ago…_

Two-face fingered his coin, listening contemplatively at the new intelligence that Zucco had brought in.

"It's coming in through the docks. I don't know how they managed to slip it by your men," the mobster was saying. "There's still nothing on what it is though. I guess if there's nothing else, these guys are good at keeping things hush hush."

Hush hush indeed. One of the things the crime lord had done was seize control of the docks, keeping an eye on anything and everything that went through them. It was trade, it didn't matter where any and all the goods were from. Trade was what motivated whole nations, drove economies, and started wars. If you could control the port, you could swipe here and there and build up enough of your own reserves.

That way when something became scarce, you could jack up the price and make a killing. And with his knowledge of international trade laws, he knew all the loopholes he could use to make sure none of his sales could incriminate him.

Being a lawyer continued to pay dividends for him.

Now, however, his competition had somehow found a way through his grip. The bastard was sneaking material in under his nose in his ports. There was no way that this could stand.

Retaliation was necessary.

"If this is true, which ship is it on?" Two-face demanded, managing to keep his temper under check. The twins were watching him warily, as they should. They had been with him long enough to know when he wasn't happy. This occasion definitely called for unhappiness.

Zucco paused as a ringtone sounded from his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he read the screen and began pressing it. "My man has come through. He found the ship."

"Which is it?" the disfigured criminal almost growled.

"Take a look for yourself. You wouldn't believe me if I just told you," Zucco replied as he held out his phone, an image glowing from the screen.

Two-face frowned, the right side of his face being the only clear sign of the facial expression. What the hell was this? That was the ship that these goods were being transported on? It wasn't a freighter or anything that looked like it carried lots of materials.

It was a cruise ship.

Yes, there had been one that had docked today, just another cruise liner coming in from a Caribbean tour. Yet, perhaps that was the genius of it. The ship was in international waters and traveled to several different countries. At any point, something could be loaded on, and who would really notice? Restocking of food, of retail merchandise, and emptying out all the trash and waste had to happen at some point. So no one would notice cargo being loaded onto the ship.

And now that it was back in Gotham, unloading all the waste that had collected would be one of the tasks the crew would have to do. Naturally, picking up this illegal cargo would have to be done out of everyone's sight, and the competition was proving to be a bit predictable with their methods.

That method being waiting until dark when there were few to no people around to see you get your hands on the goods. A shame that they had to ruin such a scheme with tired, old, and cliché techniques.

Still, such a bold plan called for a bold reply. What better way to do that than show up himself? Normally, he would flip for such a decision, but...for once, both sides of him were in agreement. No flip necessary. And no, Dr. Thompkin's words had no influence on him.

Still, such movement would be noticed by someone. If he was going to head to the docks, he was going to go in with half an army to show he meant business. That was really going to impact traffic and all it took was one eagle-eyed cop or vigilante to spot one of the cars. Then there would be unwanted company.

He hadn't gotten this far by not planning for such interventions. A distraction would be in order.

"Doubleday," he called out, looking for the former Thorne stooge.

"Two-face," the suited man replied, making himself known.

"I need a place that would require a good number of men, something that I would target, and is linked to Thorne. What place do you know of that's a juicy enough target and would draw attention to it?" He stared down the numbers man, waiting for an answer.

He was not disappointed as Doubleday was quick to give him something. "It's a Frontier bank, just another place that Thorne kept as a backup. The amount that he put into it, combined with the interest, would make it a very pretty penny to pinch. Plus, it's on South Jackson."

South Jackson, combined with North Jackson made it a road so long it had to be divided into two just so that the city developers didn't run out of address numbers. Two-face liked Doubleday's thinking here.

"Send some greenhorns over to that Frontier bank and make a withdrawal," he told Min. "Pick out some men who are wanting to prove themselves. This is their chance." Then to Max, "Roundup our best men, we're heading to the docks to seize some cargo that rightfully belongs to me. We're going to make an example of our rival."

There was some hooting and hollering from the Two Ton Gang who were eager for some action, as well as some payback for the quarry fiasco.

It was time to clench his iron fisted grip around Gotham even tighter.

* * *

 _The present moment…_

The digital face of Oracle stared back at Barbara, vanishing as she put in the correct password and accessed the system. As the hard drives began to hum, she looked up any and all notifications to see if there was anything she needed to look at. With this programming, she had put in the command to search for any and all activity in the city that warranted her attention.

Hmm, just your standard traffic violations, nothing to worry about there. Okay, time to resume her search.

For the past few months, she had been scanning all the traffic cameras, trying to use their data to try and find where Two-face's base of operations was. He had to have one; if she could find it, she could get that important piece of information into the proper hands and hopefully rescue the city from this ongoing nightmare.

The thing was, for some reason, she could only get glimpses of known vehicles that Two-face used and rarely would she see any of them with the same camera in a short amount of time. If she didn't know any better, Barbara would have sworn that this criminal was deliberately avoiding the traffic cams. Why be so paranoid to avoid them when you didn't know whether or not someone was watching through them? No one paid much attention to those cameras anyway.

It didn't change her frustration that she had Gotham digitally by the balls but she was as powerless as her two cohorts to put an end to this.

With her preliminary searches done, she began her next search, that being any and all crimes that she could feed to the various vigilantes in the city. It could be muggings, robberies, kidnappings, murders, you name it and she saw it, then a masked woman or man would be hounding after the perpetrators. It was a consolation prize to break up the random act of violence, but these small victories would be taken.

If only she could catch a break and really prove her Oracle System was indeed worth all the time and effort she put into it. Failure really wasn't an option, not for her. What was she missing, though? What was preventing programing like hers from bringing forth the solution that was desperately needed?

Whatever the answer was, she would need to find it before things got even worse. Because they were going to whether someone did something or not. Dick and Tim were out there risking their lives, trying to be that someone. She could do no less than to give her best and do her part. Yet, it always seemed like she was failing even that.

Why did Harvey Dent have to be so smart?

As she was putting the images of traffic on three of her screens, she was able to catch something from one of them. Frowning, Barbara took a good look at one of the feeds, zooming in and trying to see if she had seen something or her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe it was the latter, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to look into it a little more, just in case.

So that was Franklin there, let's move further down the street. Further down some more. And a little more. Hmm, must have been a figment of her imagination, something born of desperation to try and be useful for once. Eh, why not go to the end of the street? It could be another waste of time, but she had been wasting enough time already.

Her eyes narrowed as the new feed happened to catch the tail end of a line of cars. Something about them was off. Putting on a new feed, she somehow caught sight of what looked like a caravan of vehicles. Sure there was enough space between them that it didn't seem like they were together, but the fact that so many of them were making a right turn and ignoring the traffic lights when they turned red hinted that something was up.

Okay, she had gotten a few license plates from that feed, let's run them through and see what she would get. In the meantime, she would follow them as best as she could-wait, she knew that one particular car. That was Two-face's car! Second from the front and always just out of sight whenever she brought up a live feed, this was a one in a million chance that had fallen into her lap.

Something was up. Especially if that car was involved. Now where were they headed? Was this another one of Two-face's raids in the making? Even as confirmation of the license plates came up, each one a known associated of the crime lord, she was bringing city maps on one screen, quickly trying to ascertain if there was anything in that part of the city.

Other than a secret gambling den, there wasn't much out there. And that gambling den was speculation at this point. No, the only thing in that area was the docks.

A bit cliché, sure, but if she was a gambling woman, that's where she pegged their destination was to be.

Time to call up some help and get someone over there quickly.

Closing a few programs, she brought up the radio frequencies. First she would try to contact her boys...and they weren't picking up. Had they changed the frequency on her without telling her again? Would those morons ever learn? Goddamnit. Time to try and search for them.

And just in case, she would try to scan for anybody else that would be in a position to check this lead out.

It didn't take long for her to find someone.

" _Who is this?"_ and irritated voice sounded into her headset. _"This is a private line."_

Private. From her. Right.

"You wouldn't happen to be a fellow denizen of the night? Because I have a hot tip on some movement that someone should do something about," she quipped. She vaguely recognized the voice but couldn't place it at the moment.

" _I'm not in the mood for games, missy."_

Barbara raised an eyebrow at that. "So you're not interested on a potential sighting of Two-face?"

" _Two-face? You know where he is?"_ the voice suddenly turned demanding, and even more familiar.

"There's some movement towards the docks." Glancing at her feed, she bore witness to her prediction coming true. "Correction, it is at the docks. I don't know about you, but I would think someone should look into it. His car is there and last I checked, he doesn't ride around in a humvee. Prefers those older sedans."

" _And you're certain about this?"_

Barbara paused for a second as she finally recognized the voice. Now how could she ever forget about how Huntress sounded? Goes to show she hadn't been in that vigilante's usual circles.

"Absolutely. I'm going to call in some back-up, unless you have someone with you?"

" _Oh, I have someone alright. I think he'll be_ very _interested with this."_

* * *

The door to the store was kicked open abruptly, soon after a large man in a trenchcoat and fedora ensemble stomped in. Behind him were too hooligans, each of their faces painted to resemble skulls.

To the store owner and clerk, he knew this was trouble, especially since he recognized the hooligans at members of the Skullz gang. A rowdy bunch there ever was who didn't seem to care about rules or laws. Especially nowadays as it seemed like they weren't afraid of crossing anybody.

He had heard from his cousin how they had trashed his place of business, hooting and hollering all the while. Looked like it was his turn. The owner was more than willing to reach out for the shotgun he kept under the counter, out of sight.

The large man who lead the two gang members, though, slammed a gloved hand down on said counter, directing the man's attention all onto him. This was a large fellow, mind you, and much better dressed than the company he kept. Not that that was saying anything.

"Word on the street is, you're paying rent on this place," the large man stated. The voice he used, the store owner had never heard the like. It really unsettled him.

"I do not pay rent. I own this place," the store owner answered, his accent slipping through.

"Not what I heard," the large man whose face was covered by the shadow his fedora cast retorted. Turning his head to glance at the two Skullz, he said aloud, "Who'd you say owned this joint again?"

The two thugs only snickered before one replied, "This is Two-face's turf. Old Abdullah here pays him protection and everything."

"My name is not Abdullah. I am not even Arab," the store owner protested.

"You terrorists all look alike," the Skullz member cackled.

The store owner was itching to use those Second Amendment rights the American Constitution promised him. However, the fact that all eyes were on him, and that one of the Skullz was casually dangling a pistol tempered this urge.

Not that they were lying. Indeed, he had been approached several months ago and offered "insurance" by a representative of this Two-face person. He had never met the man in question, but he knew a protection racket when he saw one. The insurance was more what would be done to his business should he refuse, and not something as innocent as fire insurance, something much more legitimate.

"If that were the case, should you three not be cautious?" the store owner simply said back, biding his time for an opportunity.

"You think we're scared of that creep in the business suit?" the Skullz member with the pistol spat. "He's just a freak who's gotten lucky. We're here to show who's gonna be the new king of the hill and it ain't gonna be him."

Another power play? The store owner had seen them many a time and was not too impressed. So long as he could continue to make a living, it didn't matter to him who claimed to be in charge. That was especially true in recent years.

"Now boys, you need to take a step back here and take in the picture," the large man reprimanded the two giggling goblins. "What you're seeing here is a cashier with a backbone. You don't see many of those, though for a very good reason. I like your spunk though, so instead of having one of my boys splatter your brains all over the place, I'll make this a straight-up robbery. Hand over the cash in the register and we'll cut you a break."

As soon as the large man had said the word "robbery," the armed Skullz member had pointed his gun directly at the store owner. Things had become so much more dire in such a short amount of time.

"Take what you wish but know you will face grave consequences," the store owner warned, surrendering this battle before it came to bloodshed, his in particular.

"Don't mind if I do," the large man chuckled as he raised a fist up. Expecting the blow, the store owner braced himself for impact, only to be shocked with the large, gloved fist instead rammed down and into the register. Continuing with his feat of strength, the large man tore the face of the register off and toss it over his shoulder. Reaching down, he removed the cash drawer from its exposed position and handed it over to his goons.

The store owner stumbled backwards, and thanks to the distance he had now placed between him and the counter, he was able to get a better look at the trenchcoat-wearing man's face and…

By the Gods...

"Here, get yourself a better register," the large man chuckled as he removed a few bills and placed them on the counter. "That one was flimsy as hell. Get a stronger one, make me work for it. Expect to see us more often, 'cause so long as you back the wrong horse, we'll be back to remind you of the mistake you're making. So, think long, think hard, and the next time I show up, be ready for a repeat performance or be ready to do some business. This city is ours, you better get with the winning team."

The store owner sank to the floor, staring as the large man finally pulled away. "C'mon boys, we got a long night ahead of us. Akmed here has a lot to think about and we got places to be."

But he wasn't Arab...

* * *

A cruise ship stuck out a like a sore thumb, especially at a port. Most ships were had an industrial quality to them that gave an old-timey feel to them. A cruise ship, in contrast, was smoother, newer.

Mitch had never been interested in those kinds of boats. Too many people. Too little to do that was interesting. Yet here he was on a job that put him in front of one.

There was crew working on that ship, getting it ready for a voyage that was to take off the next day, so a lot of activity. The tall man didn't like it. Still, he had his instructions and he knew better than to disobey.

Narrowing his eyes, he spotting a few guys that stuck out from the crowd. They weren't employees of the cruise line, that was for sure. Guys in all black, pfft, shades. Except for the guy in the middle who looked like he was getting off one of those party boats. Had a Hawaiian shirt and everything. He was also keeping his eyes on this crate that was being removed from the ship, waving at the workers moving it

Had to be their man. Opening the driver's door, the mobster stepped out of the van, a hand slipping into a pocket to retrieve the piece of paper the boss had given him. No sense making a stupid mistake at this point.

Shoving open the car door, Two-face stepped out into the port, his eyes trained on the massive cruise ship in front of him. Somewhere around here, a deal was being made for something on board that ship. Somebody was going to be getting a nasty surprise and whatever was being brought in would be his property.

"I want everybody to spread out, find the people we're looking for," he ordered, not taking his eyes off the ship. His eyes trailed towards the side of the ship where a steep step ramp could be seen, obviously the only way onto the ship that was currently available.

No, he narrowed his eyes as he saw a second, less steep ramp led into the bowels of the ship. There was another way in, one less noticeable and most likely a faster way to the cargo hold. That had to be the place where the cargo was being held, blending in with everything else until it was removed.

Directing his gaze to a group of his men that hadn't yet broken up, he added, "You, come with me into the ship. We're going to knock onto some doors."

Pulling out twin pistols, the crime lord armed himself as he took front and center, leading the way towards the ramps. At that point, he split his small group in half, one to take the less steep ramp into the cargo hold and the other to follow him to the upper levels of the ship. Even though the cargo hold was the obvious place to go, so far his competition had proven to be tricky. There was as good a chance that whatever was being brought in could also be up top.

Boarding the ship, once again split his remaining group in two, taking three men with him to head towards the front while the other went back. The search was beginning, anything and everything would be checked, including the swimming pool and the trash cans scattered all over the place.

They made a mess of things, not caring about where they were. Trash was scattered all over the place, furniture upended, and all that was being they ventured inside the ship. Into the hallways they went, searching the rooms one by one. Time itself seemed to slip by as the longer they searched, the more they kept finding no signs of anything.

Tucking one gun away, Two-face pulled out a handheld radio and requested an update. Quickly the reports came in, no one finding anything out in the port nor in the ship. The group in the cargo hold was still searching, and he grunted at that. He would keep his patience for the time being. The port was a large area to search and a cruise ship much more. There were so many places to check, and there was also the fact he had no idea what he was looking for. Was it small? Large? Was it weapons? Drugs? What did it look like?

He made a note to himself that in the future, he would be requiring more details from Zucco. A lot more details. For the time being, he would have to rely on finding anything that stuck out in this place.

He came to a sudden stop, making a mental count in his head. He had heard from his men out in the port and the group in the cargo hold, but not from the other half of his group. None of them had responded.

He barked an order into the radio for a response from the other half of his group and waited. The seconds ticked by, but no answer came.

Now why weren't they answering? So far, this place was a ghost town. Other than the legit security guards, who were on his payroll by the way, they hadn't come across another soul here.

"We're not alone," he said to himself as the thought that his men had found who they were looking for came up in his head simultaneously.

Well, well, looks like Zucco's info was dead on.

"Everyone who's not on the ship, I want you to keep an eye out for anybody getting on or getting off," he put forth his next commands through the radio. "No one leaves, no one enters. Everybody who's on the ship, make your way to the upper levels and towards the back of the ship. That's where the deal's going down."

Looking over his shoulder to the three men behind him. he added, "Be ready for anything. We have company and they might have gotten the jump on us."

Two-face waited for one of the gang members to take the front, a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. The darkened halls held no light in them, and they didn't want to give away their presence by turning everything on. A brisk pace was set as they made their way towards the back of their ship, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of life.

Eventually, the hallway they were in came to an end, a set of double doors blocking their way. Fortunately they were unlocked, and soon enough the group entered a large dining area. There weren't any tables, probably removed for some kind of gathering or party, though very long tables lined the room, an odd box here and there placed on them.

On the other side of the room was another set of double doors. To their far right was a way that led onto the deck. So what should they do, Two-face wondered. Should they split up one more time with two of them staying inside while the other two circled around from the outside? The group was small enough as it was, and who knew how long it would take for the other men in the ship to reinforce them.

Well, he could always put it up to a coin toss.

Taking a few seconds to look at his men, he stopped as he only counted two when he damn well knew he had three with him. Raising his guns, he growled, "We have company."

His men in response began scanning their surroundings, keeping the barrels of their guns pointing in the directions of their line of sights.

Someone was in here with them, hiding, watching and waiting, then pouncing out to nab them when their guards were down. Except now their guards were anything but down, so their stalker was going to have to keep hiding or expose himself.

Two-face was not going to wait for either one to happen.

The disfigured man, though, did not shout or demand for this hidden man to come out. No, he didn't want to alert anyone else nearby that they were here. Shouting would only bring unnecessary attention.

"There!" one of his men shouted, directing all attention to catch sight of something black moving in the shadows.

Well, so much for not drawing any unwanted attention.

He began firing in the area he perceived this dark-clad individual to be, his two men following his example as they rained down gunfire. Without warning, one of his men cried out as his gun somehow was knocked out of his hand. The other gave out the same exclamation as his gun too was sent clattering to the floor.

Ceasing his fire, Two-face dove for the nearest cover he could find just as a black blur launched itself at him. His metaphorical ducking became literal as he allowed himself to drop fully onto the floor to avoid whatever was coming at him. The black-colored thing was past him and it took him several seconds to push himself up and to turn around enough to see what was behind him.

By that time, one of his men was thrown and was in midair, Two-face watching almost captivated until the large-bodied man slammed onto the floor and skidded to a stop. Not a single thought crossed the former attorney's mind as the sound of flesh being struck repeatedly caught his attention.

Slipping his radio into his suit, the crime lord stood up and faced the sight of that black thing assaulting his last man. With a mighty blow, it sent the much more muscular thug stumbling back until he ran into a table, his lower back taking quite some punishment as the man fell forward with a groan.

While it may sound stupid, Two-face had slipped his gun back into his suit, reloaded of course. This was to attempt to project the illusion that he was unarmed, though how effective that would be was extremely questionable. Because that black thing wasn't a thing, but a person. It was a person who had taken out the group of Two Ton gang members he had brought onto this ship then waited in ambush to come after him.

It was a person he was very familiar with.

"Batman," he almost hissed as the Dark Knight turned to face him.


	13. The Unfriendly Waters

Author's Note: Okay, recently I saw a trailer for a new DC animated movie: _Batman vs. Two-face_. Has the late Adam West reprising his role as Batman and William Shatner is Two-face. Fun stuff. Imagine my surprise when it turns out Hugo Strange has a role in Harvey Dent's transformation in this flick. Mind equals blown.

The Unfriendly Waters

Harvey Dent had changed.

Every time Batman had faced the former District Attorney, the man's face had been filled with youthful optimism. Now though, the right side of his face was cool and stoic, looking back at him with a stone-cold expression. The left side of his face was twisted and scarred, showing very little emotion at all. The lips were permanent separated, revealing damaged teeth; his eye was marred and lacked an eyelid.

"Dent," Batman spoke.

"You finally showed yourself, Bats," Harvey responded condescendingly. "I was starting to wonder if you ever would."

The vigilante ignored the jab. "Where's Dr. Thompkins?" he demanded.

"So you heard about that, huh? You don't have to worry about her. She's perfectly safe."

While that was good to hear, it wasn't enough. "Let her go."

Harvey shook his head. "That I can't do. See, every outfit needs a doctor; she's mine." A smirk appeared on his face. "If you want her, you're going to have to take her."

Fine, so be it. While Leslie would've preferred more talking, she wasn't the one out here searching. Words at this point were useless.

Though he was boiling with rage, Batman wasn't so lost to it that he didn't notice Dent's fingers twitch. Both hands had done so, an obvious tell if he ever saw one. Immediately, the Dark Knight spun to his right even as Dent's hand's shot to his suit coat to pull out twin firearms. As he spun, Batman pulled out a couple of bat-shaped shuriken and used his circular momentum to his advantage. The moment he began to see his foe, he threw the projectiles.

His timing was perfect. Dent was aiming both of his guns, having to turn due to the vigilante's spinning side-step. This bought enough time for the shuriken to collide with his hands, knocking the weapons out of his hands as he cried out in surprise and pain.

Immediately, Batman was running at him, closing the distance rapidly. At the last moment, he leaped off the floor, hands extended out in front of him. A second later and his hands grabbed onto Dent's jacket, his momentum knocking his opponent off his feet and sending the both of them crashing to the floor.

Dent landed hard on his back, a loud gasp indicating the wind had been knocked out of him. Batman went into a flip, twisting his body in midair so that he could land on his feet facing the deformed Dent. Surprisingly, the two-faced man was rolling onto his hands and knees, forcing himself up despite his fall.

Letting out a war cry, Dent charged at him, throwing a punch at his head. Immediately, Batman shot up an arm and blocked the blow with his forearm. Counterattacking, the vigilante threw his own punch, only to have Dent block him as well, catching the fist with his hand.

Without hesitating, the deformed man lunged forward, his head colliding with Batman's, causing an explosion of stars before his eyes. The dark-clad man winced from the blow, but then felt himself bend over as Dent slammed his knee into his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs and leaving him breathless. Dent then moved his arms up, clasping his hands together high above his head, then dropping them and jackhammering him on the back of his skull.

Batman cried out in pain as he dropped to the floor. He laid there for only a second mostly because he saw Dent backing away a step, only so that he could draw a leg up and then swing it forward. The kick nailed him in the face, causing his head to bend backwards at a painful angle.

Seeing Dent draw his leg back again, Batman finally forced himself into action. Pushing his hands against the ground, he pushed himself awkwardly onto the balls of his feet. As his opponent swung his leg again, he moved his arms in front of him, catching the man's leg with both hands, stopping the kick.

Snapping his head up, Batman glared at Dent before his coil legs sprang out from under him, launching him upwards. Leaning to a side, he rammed his shoulder into Dent's chest, knocking the man backwards several steps. The vigilante didn't press his advantage, opting to hold his position as he attempted to catch his breath.

Dent seemed more than happy to do the same. "Is this all you got?" he demanded. "This isn't how you fought at City Hall. Are you getting soft on me?" He then raised his hands up, making one into a fist and cupping it with the other. A loud cracking sound was made as he popped his knuckles. "Taking you down is gonna be easy."

It was surprising to find out Harvey Dent knew how to fight. It was a street brawler style, but it was fighting nonetheless. Batman hadn't expected it, but now that he knew what to look for, this fight was only beginning. Straightening out his posture, Batman slowly turned his head to a side before he loudly popped his neck. "I'm only getting warmed up," he countered.

Dent shouted again as he charged. Again he wound an arm back before throwing a punch and again Batman blocked it. This time, though, he didn't counter, instead waiting for his foe to throw a second punch, which he did. Backing up step by step, Batman blocked each and every one of Dent's punches, his eyes focused on the deformed man's face.

And then he sprung forward, ramming his knee into Dent's stomach. An explosion of air blew out of his mouth right before Batman pressed his hand on his face and pushed the man away from him. Dent stumbled, which left him wide open for the haymaker the dark-clad man threw, slamming it into the side of his face and causing his head to snap to a side.

With his other arm, Batman sent another blow, landing that one as well, knocking Dent's head the other way. A third blow landed, but this time Batman overextended himself, pivoting on his feet as he turned with his arm's follow-through. Using his closest leg, he used it to kick out Dent's feet from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ground on his back.

With the same leg, he held up and maneuvered to hover over Dent. Then with a grunt he sent it down, attempting to stomp on the man. However, his opponent rolled out of the way, causing his foot to hit the ground, sending a jolt up his leg.

Quickly, Dent was crouched on his feet, his entire face snarling at him. He charged yet again, but this time he rammed his shoulder into the Dark Knight's abdomen, his arms wrapping around his sides as he tackled him. Feeling himself backing up, it wasn't until his back meet with a long table that they stopped moving.

Dent then pulled his arms back, one at a time, before slamming punch after punch into his flanks. Batman grimaced from the blows, but only long enough for him to reach down and grab a fistful of Harvey's hair. Pulling it back, Dent began to scream as he was pulled away from the vigilante.

With such a perfect display of his foe's face, Batman couldn't help but slam his fist into it, shutting the man up. Pulling his arm back, he delivered another punch, and pulling back again.

However, it was as he drew back that something unexpected happened. Out of nowhere, one of the walls was suddenly torn apart by an explosion. The roar of the blast was deafening right before the force of the explosion slammed into both of the men. Lifted right off their feet, Batman felt himself thrown through the air, careening wildly as he felt Dent's body pulled away from him.

And then he landed roughly on the floor, rolling a short distance before coming to a stop. Groaning, Batman laid there for a moment to recover, tilting his head up to see what just happened after a while.

Half of the room was obliterated, a raging inferno attempting to consume the rest. What was left had begun to slant, as if the very ship they were on was taking on water. Smoke billowed, filling the air with its acrid smell, suffocating. There were more rumblings, signaling that more explosives were going off somewhere...

Shaking his head, Batman turned his attention away from the boat and back to Dent, only to find out the other man was nowhere in sight. Jerking his head this way and that, he couldn't find the deformed man, which sent him shooting up onto his feet.

"Harvey!" he shouted as he began to search. The space they had been fighting in had been very open, not a lot around to obscure your view. Other than tables that had been disturbed from their placements against the walls, he could see were the bodies of two large men, Dent's men. Whether they were still alive or not was unknown but they needed to get out of here and receive medical treatment. Yet, there was no sign of Harvey Dent anywhere.

Rage exploded within the Dark Knight. His teeth bared themselves as anger wrote itself on his face. No! He had not lost him! That bastard was somewhere around here and he would find him. He would find him and get Leslie back and this would all be over.

"HARVEY!"

* * *

The car was silent, Mitch at the wheel. The deal had gone down as planned and they had the goods. Everything had been doubled-checked, t's crossed and i's dotted. More importantly, no one had showed up to botch it. Nothing had gone wrong.

It was going to be a long drive back, though. Which was fine. Obey the traffic laws and there was nothing to worry about.

The vehicle passed by a sign, its back facing towards their way so what it said could not be seen. Had they been heading in the other direction, they would have seen these words.

WELCOME TO

METROPOLIS

* * *

There was a reason why blondes were considered stupid.

Take this chick for example: she was walking alone in the dead of night, eyes glued to her cell phone and completely oblivious to the guy stalking her from behind.

Harper...ahem, Bluebird had her back pressed against the alley wall. Peeking around the corner, she kept her eyes right on the airhead blonde, her purple jacket swishing from side to side with every step she took due to it being unzipped.

The big reason for the peeking was mostly because Bluebird wasn't quite ready for a descent from the top of a building using her grapple. Her last experience had left a lot to be desired, so she felt it was in her—and her face's—best interest if she stayed on the ground. Besides, blondie's stalker was far enough behind her that he wasn't going to try pulling the girl into this alley.

That said, Bluebird crept away from the corner, taking refuge behind the nearby dumpster. As expected, Blondie walked on by without so much as a glance. God, she was stupid. Did she not know where she was? In this part of town, you had a better chance of getting stabbed than making it home. She was practically begging to get assaulted.

The moment her stalker passed by, Bluebird quickly approached the alley corner again. She was just in time too as the guy suddenly called out, "Hey miss? Can you tell me what time it is?"

Blondie actually stopped and turned around to look at him. "It's after nine," she told him, her voice full of annoyance. She was an eyeroll and the word "like" away from being a Valley Girl.

That was when a car door opened up further down the street and a man stepped out. It only took the blue-haired girl an instant to realize these two were working together and had boxed her in. Even more alarming was this second man opened the back door of the car, looking at the blonde girl expectantly.

As Blondie turned back around, she immediately noticed, her body stiffening right then and there. It was too damn late for her, but she must have realized just what was going on.

Hefting up her taser gun and resting it across her shoulders, Bluebird stepped out of the alley and took what she thought was a relaxed pose. "Hey boys," she called out, causing the three people in front of her to look at her. "I hope I'm invited to this party."

Stalker guy stared at her with a frown. "And just who do you think you are?" he asked, though it was pretty obvious in his tone that he didn't care.

Regardless, the vigilante just smirked. "Name's Bluebird. I'm new to the block and I was hoping to make some friends."

"Beat it, little girl and go play dress up elsewhere."

Well, that was just rude. Bluebird's smirk dropped. "I guess you should meet my friend first then." She then moved her weapon and pointed it at Stalker guy. Squeezing the trigger, the bolt of electricity fired from the barrel and stuck the guy, causing him to scream as his body went rigid. The moment she released the trigger, the electricity stopped and the man dropped to the sidewalk in a smoking heap.

"Holy shit!" the man from the car exclaimed before his hands shot to his back. Immediately, Bluebird rushed towards Blondie, pressing a hand on the girl's shoulder and pushing down to the ground. With a clear shot, she fired at the man.

Unfortunately, this guy had seen what her stun gun could do and immediately dove behind his car, the bolt of electricity hitting the ground where he had once stood.

"Stay here," she ordered Blondie before she steadied her gun with both hands. She was about to go beat her prey out of his hiding spot when out of nowhere something hit the back of her head and stars and bright lights exploded in front of her eyes.

The force of the blow knocked Bluebird right off her feet, sending her falling to the ground, where she landed roughly. She even lost her grip on her Taser Gun, sending it clattering down the pavement. Wincing, the vigilante twisted around, spotting another guy holding a club in his hands.

Oh damn, she hadn't expected a third guy.

"So we got ourselves a trouble maker, huh?" the guy spoke, his face stoic as his wool hat covered his head. He began tapping the end of his club against his gloved hand as he took a step towards her. "Looks like I need to teach you a lesson."

Oh, like hell he would. Scrambling to her feet, Bluebird put on her best stern face. It was stern because she had yet to come up with an intimidating fight face. Raising her hands up as fists, she challenged, "Just try it, dirtbag."

Slowly she edged backwards. The sooner she got her Taser Gun, the sooner she'd fry this guy's brains out. Unfortunately, that's when she heard some footsteps behind her. Jerking her head back, she saw the Car Gun standing next to her weapon, pointing a gun at her and effectively closing her off from her ticket out of this.

Oh, damn it.

Okay, so this wasn't the way things were supposed to go. That was alright, she was part of the vigilante fraternity here. She'd just beat these guys up and call it a day.

Now, she wasn't a fighting expert, but hey, how hard could it be? You just had to hit someone really, really hard until they fell down and didn't get back up again. Piece of cake. As Club Guy made to raise his weapon up, the blue-haired vigilante darted in, throwing the strongest punch she could. It hit dead center of his torso, just like she hoped.

So...why hadn't the guy fallen down?

Club Guy just stared down at her, unfazed by the blow. "Is...is that all?" he asked her.

"Umm, no?" she replied in confusion. Slowly she drew her fist back. "That was just me testing you is all."

"Oh, good."

The next thing Bluebird knew, the side of her face was filled with pain. Again, she flew off the ground, crashing face first into the building next to her. _Why the face again? Why?_ Dropping to the ground, she landed in a crumpled heap. One of her hands weakly touched her face and when she drew it back, there was blood on her gloved hand.

"Some people just never learn," the thug muttered as he came to stand behind her. Slowly tilting her head to a side, Bluebird saw the guy towering above her. "Looks like you're not making it out of junior high, kid."

Oh, now that was low. She was in high school, thank you very much. No damn way was she in...oh, what did it matter now. She was about to be in for a rather bad time. Her damsel was pressed up against the side of the car, fear on her face, and she probably knew that once Club Guy was done with her, she was next.

And then someone else cried out in pain. All eyes shot to Car Guy, who was grabbing onto his hand, howling loudly. That was when something small and metal hit the sidewalk. It had a point since it stuck into the concrete, standing up to reveal itself as a R.

And then a boy in red and black dropped down on top of Car Guy, his hands pressing into the back of the guy's head. Because of his force and gravity teaming up, he dropped Car Guy to the ground, bashing his head against the sidewalk.

That was when a much louder sound was made, drawing Bluebird's attention away. On top of the car Blondie was against was another costumed guy, only in black and blue. He had landed on the roof the car, but had immediately rebounded off of it, flying through the air towards Club Guy. Leaning back, he extended a leg out, his foot slamming into Club Guy's face and sending him crashing into the brick wall of the building by Bluebird. Unlike her head, this one had been just what the doctor ordered with Club Guy collapsing to the ground unconscious.

Staring at the unconscious bodies in amazement, it was awhile before Bluebird finally turned to her attention to who must have been the other vigilante's in the city. Staring at the two men, it took her a couple moments to realize they were two of the less famous ones, Nightwing and Robin.

And Nightwing was currently looking down at her unimpressed. "Don't tell me there's another one running around," he muttered.

Immediately, Bluebird shot up to her feet. "Hey, thanks for the help, guys," she said, even though her legs were wobbly underneath her.

"Who's this?" Robin asked as he came to stand next to his much taller partner. All the while, Blondie was just staring at the three of them, her eyes wide.

"We haven't been introduced—since I'm new to this," the blue-haired girl immediately responded. "I'm Bluebird."

An eyebrow raised on Nightwing's face. "She has a less imaginative name than you do, Robin."

Robin glared at the older man. "Stuff it, 'Wing."

Well, so these guys were rude too. Was there anyone around her that had any manners? Like, seriously?

"Well, Bluebird, it looked like you were a little over your head there," Robin then spoke to her. "What made you think you could take these guys all on your own?"

The vigilante looked to her Taser Gun. "Well, I dropped my stun gun over there by accident. Had I not, these guys would be quivering piles of goo long ago. I'm thinking of adding a strap so that doesn't happen again."

Now both of the guys were frowning at her. For some reason, she didn't like those looks. "I think you should try a different hobby—you know, something safer."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"It means you need to stop this pretending," Nightwing answered, his words hitting Bluebird hard. "You have no idea what you're doing and you're only going to get people hurt, yourself included."

Bluebird stared at him in stunned silence. She...she actually was hurt by that. Sure she was physically, but her emotions were going haywire right now. After all she had gone through, she was being told to quit, just like that?

"But...I lost my…" she tried to say.

"Lady, if your fighting skills are any indication, I have strong doubts about your stun gun thing."

Now that was going too far.

The two men then simultaneously pulled out guns, pointing them up in the air. "If we catch you out here again, we'll make sure you never put on that dumb outfit of yours," Nightwing warned her before he fired what the blue-haired girl realized was a grapple. Robin copied him a moment later and then the two shot up into the air. Jerking her head up, Bluebird watched as they ascended up the building, disappearing over its edge without so much as touching the brick and mortar of the structure.

God, that was so unfair.

* * *

The door to her bedroom flew open. Then just as quickly it was slammed shut.

Stephanie could feel it boiling just beneath the surface of her skin. She was livid beyond belief. You would be too.

There she was, walking home, minding her own business, when a couple guys decided to mug her. Well, maybe that was putting it lightly. They probably had more terrible things in mind. Regardless, that didn't matter anymore.

What did was that of all vigilantes in the city, where they practically had a two-for-one sale nowadays, the one that came to save her was completely and utterly useless.

It was a dream for most girls her age to want to meet the Batman, have him save them, impress him with their beauty, brain, sharp wit—in other words, just how perfect they were—fall in love, and make a family full of Bat-babies. Don't laugh, it wasn't that far-fetched. Hell, maybe that meeting spurred them into becoming a vigilante too, a femme fatale for sure. The possibilities were endless as long as they ended with Bat-babies.

The problem was that this was Gotham. Crime happened practically every time someone took a breath. So if Batman wasn't available, then Huntress or Black Canary would've sufficed. They were Girl Power incarnate and it would've been totally tits to meet them in person.

But no, not for Stephanie Brown. She got the bottom of the barrel. Some wannabe vigilante that probably beat up some playground bullies, thought they were tough shit, had their wittle mommies make them a crime fighting suit, and charged headfirst into a buzzsaw.

Plopping into her chair, Stephanie continued to seethe. This was an injustice like none other she had been dealt. She lived with her mom for the most part since Daddy Brown practically lived at the studio—fine, that happens, and her mom was awesome. There were worse things than having a workaholic dad and her dad made sure they lived in the comforts of the suburbs. There was fame and fortune at the cost of her being forced to attend a school full of shallow-minded pinheads—though her father would say his celebrity contestants could give her school buddies a run for their money. While that part sucked, Stephanie was willing to put up with it—but this was the last straw.

And then the blonde girl's head perked up. School, celebs, pinheads, it was all coming to her. Immediately her hands sought out her keyboard and mouse. Her computer woke up from sleep mode, the monitor showing her desktop. Immediately she opened her web browser and was greeted with the main page of her blog, SPOILER ALERT. Accessing her administrator account, she soon had a prompt ready to go.

Her fingers danced over the keys. For the first time in a long time, Stephanie felt rejuvenated. No more would she make posts about the vapid students at school or the crummy famous people that came onto her dad's show. That was over; just a warm up for the real scoop.

The world had to know. Yes, there were real heroes out there and they deserved every ounce of praise and respect they got. But there were too many out on the streets that didn't _deserve_ to be out there. They were weekend warriors at best that no doubt were just out there for the fame and glory. Such people shouldn't be spoken of in the same breath as Batman. Hell, they gave people like him a bad name.

It was her duty to let everyone know that there was a difference. If someone wanted to help out on the streets, they needed training, they needed intelligence, and—why not?—they needed competence.

And Stephanie Brown would be the one to spread that gospel, so to speak.

"Watch out, vigilantes," she muttered under her breath, eyes honed in on the prompt. "I hope you're ready for a Spoiler Alert."

* * *

He observed as the large crate was brought in through the back and taken to a very private room.

"Be careful with that. You break it, it kills you," he jested.

Beside him, Eddie gave him a look, "Are you serious? Whatever's in that box can kill people?"

"A couple," he shrugged as he followed after the crate. "Naturally, whoever drops it is a dead man whether or not because of that nasty stuff they're carrying getting into their system or the lead I will fire into their skulls. It's just a friendly reminder for them to be careful, that's all."

"What is all this stuff for?" Eddie demanded as he followed after him. "Are we going to sell it or something?"

"Sell it? After I already spent so much to get it? Not likely," he denied. "What I'm bringing in is the kind of stuff that you use. More specifically, you use on other people. Get my meaning?"

"So...all this stuff is going to make some kind of new drug or something?" Eddie continued to guess. Aww, he was trying to be smart.

"Drugs will come later, Ed. I have something different in mind," he replied as the two men carrying the crate maneuvered around and entered the specified room they were directed to. "Now, if you don't mind, this is where you stop. Top secret stuff going on inside. You know the drill."

"Look, I just want to understand what the plan is," Eddie protested. As he looked at the stooge he had recently hired, he watched as the mustached man became silent, as if he sensed something was not right.

That wasn't far from the truth as a very large figure had walked up behind the suave gangster. "The boss currently has you on a need to know basis," Mr. Jones growled as he placed a gloved hand on Eddie's shoulder, "and right now, he doesn't want you to know."

"But we've already lost Dan at the quarry, then you're having Mitch and Dicky head all the way to Metropolis for this latest deal," Eddie protested, most likely ignoring whatever survival instinct he had. "What's the endgame, I gotta know!"

He held up a hand. "Tell me, Eddie, are you willing to be on board, to not have any doubts of staying with this enterprise if we tell you what's really up? Because once you're in, there's no getting out. If I get one inkling that you blabbed your mouth all over town about this, I will do more than have you killed. No, it will be long, drawn out, and Mr. Jones here is going to be having the time of his life with you. With that in mind, are you absolutely sure you want to know? Or would you like to stay in the dark, where it's safe, for a little while longer?"

He didn't have to see to know that Mr. Jones had a very toothy smile. Eddie, meanwhile, was looking a bit pale. He squirmed under Mr. Jones' hand, almost shrinking on himself before finally saying, "I...I'll be in the dark, sir."

"That's a good boy, now run along. I have some things I need to discuss with Mr. Jones here," he said loftily, taking a little enjoyment in how Eddie cowered away down the hall like a dog with its leg between its legs. Turning away, he entered into the top secret room, his hired muscle coming in after him.

Ten feet into the room, he came to a stop in front of a wall of glass. On the other side, there were several individuals in hazmat suits getting ready to open the crate while the two movers were exiting through a secured door. As the area beyond the glass was secured, the crate was opened and several, very large glass vials were removed, different colored liquids filling them to the brim.

Each vial was then led to a very large device that was currently halfway built. Gears and wires could be seen as well as several other large vials that were installed in it. The whole thing was kept together with a metal framework skeleton that formed a cube around it, keeping the insides from spilling out all over the place.

"So how much longer until this thing is ready?" Mr. Jones asked.

"Not long. There's only one last component left to bring in and then it'll be complete," he answered, not taking his eyes off the device. "I'm really liking bringing it all in from out of town. It's out of the jurisdiction of the cops, and now it's out of sight of both Two-face and the Batman. I hope Harvey enjoyed the spice I added to his cruise, by the way. Now, this last piece is going to be hard to get my hands on, but fortunately, I know how to get my hands on it."

"You need me to go fetch it?" The larger man was brimming with energy, obviously still excited from his night of violence and mayhem.

"No, I'm having it custom made by that professor, the one with the awful bowl cut," he replied, putting his arms behind his back. "He might be a mad scientist, but he knows his chemicals. So long as I keep funding his experiments, he'll do what I want in return. Just in case, I have a backup plan, though hopefully I won't have to use it. This last chemical is one that a lot of people keep their eye on and to take even a milligram of it will get so many people on your case, it'll be as if you're Lee Harvey Oswald. Too much attention that way."

"So once it's done, where do you plan to put it? You did tell that runt back there you plan to use it," Mr. Jones pointed out.

"Oh, I have quite a few places in mind. Now, while I said I didn't want attention early, afterwards is a different story. I'll want everyone to know I'm the one responsible," he said frankly. He noticed his reflection in the glass wall, observed as the reflected image of a skull fell over the device being built on the other side.

How appropriate.

"Know this, Mr. Jones," he continued, "when all is said and done, everyone will know my name. Everyone will be afraid of me. And when I'm through, they will know what I am capable of and willing to do. This isn't the first time I have tried to make Gotham mine. This time, there will be no running away.

"This time, everyone will know that this city belongs to Black Mask."

* * *

Author's Note: You know what's sad? That bit during Stephanie Brown's POV about love and Bat-babies has probably been the basis for several fanfictions already. I don't need to go looking for them to know that they most likely exist. I can live life just fine without finding a single one so don't point me in the direction of any please.

By the way, Jackalope89, surprised? Bet you didn't see this one coming. Everything will be explained in due time, you know me and ShadowMajin won't leave you hanging on this.


	14. Here Comes a War

Here Comes a War

Barbara was tapping her fingers against the armrest of her wheelchair when the notice that someone was entering her apartment popped up on one of her screens. The tidbit of information contained little details, such as where the point of entry was as well as a small box that held a real-time image of her little homestead.

It was about time.

Leaving the little niche that held her Oracle workstation and equipment, she returned to her apartment, wheeling herself over to the living room where she found two certain costumed vigilantes that she was currently not pleased with.

"What were you two up to?" she demanded, not wasting time with a friendly hello and how you're doing.

"Where's that coming from?" Robin wondered.

"What is wrong with your radios?" she continued, ignoring the question. "I have been trying to reach you guys for hours. Did you two suddenly become deaf?"

"What are you talking about? Our earpieces are working just fine," Nightwing told her, looking puzzled. "What's going on? Why're you so mad?"

"Don't tell me something is wrong with your hearing too. I just said I've been trying to talk to you guys but you never picked up!" Frustration, thy name was Barbara, and dead meat, your names were Dick and Tim. That would be doubly true if they didn't have a good reason for not picking up.

"Weird. Nothing was coming through. Robin, did we change to a different frequency by accident again?" the eldest vigilante asked, looking towards the youngest of the trio.

Barbara almost snorted at the "by accident" part. By accident, her unfeeling ass!

Pulling his earpiece out, Robin checked it over. "Nope, it's the same signal it always is, barring that one time," he announced after a moment. "Let me check something. **Can you hear me**?" he almost yelled into the piece, Nightwing quickly pulling his out and rubbing at his ear.

"Christ! Did you have to do that?!" Nightwing exclaimed irritably, giving Robin a dirty look.

"Looks like they're working just fine," the teen shrugged. Looking at the stewing paraplegic woman, he asked, "Maybe it's something wrong with your equipment?"

"I checked several times, there was nothing wrong with my receiver," she growled through clenched teeth.

"Huh. That's really weird. Maybe it has to do with where we were? We were close to the Narrows, and that place has horrible reception there," Robin suggested.

"That's for phone towers. What we're using is a very sensitive radio link that is so sensitive, it was able to pick up the frequency that _Batman_ uses," was her retort. "And need I remind you two that we're _not_ using the same kind of frequencies that cell phones use?"

"Okay, you're upset," Nightwing stated, holding his hands up placatingly. Looks like he had already recovered from Robin's impromptu test. "Tell us what happened."

Barbara stared her older comrade down for a moment before relenting. "There was some major movement from Two-face tonight. He headed over towards the harbor and in force. The man himself was there. When I couldn't get you two on the line, I had to find someone else and I did. Huntress, and she happens to be spending a lot of time with Batman so you know he went there to check it out. Next thing I know, there's an explosion and now a cruise ship is at the bottom of the harbor. Something went down, something big, and you two could have been apart of it."

The two dunderheads for males shared a surprised look between the two of them. "Two-face was out and about and we _missed_ it?" Robin exclaimed incredulously. "What the hell, man!"

"Yeah, my words exactly," the computer hacker deadpanned. "So, while you guys were somehow not receiving my calls, what were you two doing?"

Both of them were now starting to squirmed, which made her narrow her eyes further.

"Just a few muggings, oh, and another person trying to play vigilante," Robin answered for the both of them eventually, not looking her in the eye.

You know, he was right to do that. From the sounds of things, they were amusing themselves with chump change when one of the major leaguers was wreaking havoc. Yeah, try to defend yourselves now.

"Barb, do you know who was with him?" Nightwing asked unexpectedly.

"The Two Ton Gang and his usual cronies. Why?"

"There wasn't anyone new? A middle-aged guy in a suit maybe?"

"Not that I could see, unless Two-face counts."

Where was Dick going with this? She was not in the mood for twenty questions.

"Two-face has a new recruit, a guy named Tony Zucco," Robin told her. "When we're not...not getting your calls, we've trying to track that guy down but he's been slippery. Could you do us a favor and see what you can pull up on this guy? Maybe there's a way we could make this up to you, you know?"

Most of what Tim had said went over her head, because the name that he had used was a familiar one. Tony Zucco, he wouldn't happen to be _that_ Tony Zucco, was he? A quick look over to Nightwing gave her all the answers she need for that thing. Dick was standing ramrod straight, his whole body tense the more Tim had prattled on.

Okay. That was a new development. So that guy was in the picture. This whole thing had to potential to become another near disaster like what had happened ten months previous with Tim's aunt. At least things looked like they were holding together for the moment.

The key word being "looked."

"Why do you want to know about that guy? Did you see him trying to move on or get close to Two-face?" she asked, wanting a better picture of this. This was just too sudden and it came out of nowhere.

Plus, as far as she knew, Tim either knew or didn't know the relevance that particular name had with Dick. If he didn't, well, that was Dick's story to tell, not hers. Also, she didn't want to reveal that she already knew about that part of the older male's life. It was a story he had shared with her before either of them had met the third member of their trio. It was done in confidence, and she did not want to betray it.

That included any potential wounded male pride Tim might feel if he found out about her prior knowledge.

"Yeah, sure, I can do that. But first, I want to get this radio silence thing resolved. I need to be able to talk to you guys at any given second. We can't have a repeat of tonight."

This seemed to be a safe topic, because Dick was relaxing somewhat. "Agreed. This is really weird, though, because our radio's are working fine, your receiver is working fine, but neither were able to reach the other. That makes no sense."

Nightwing didn't know the half of it. There was no way radio signals just disappeared in midair or stopped against solid objects.

Despite everything that was happening in Gotham, this was definitely a serious issue that needed immediate resolution to it. Because one of these days, she may not be able to reach anyone but them, and if they couldn't remain in contact, they were going to be in deep shit.

* * *

There was a growing sense of failure that seemed to be permeating a lot lately. It wasn't an unusual feeling, especially when you set your goals sky-high.

This was different though. This had become personal and every failure was felt that much more acutely.

Batman stared at the giant super-computer, mask on, and his face frozen in a perpetual glare. Over and over his mind replayed the fight with Harvey Two-Face; while part of him attempted to make a change as to how it went down, where he successfully captured the ex-DA, a larger, more honest part of him refused to accept those sweet lies and always ended his fantasies much how they ended in real life. Harvey had gotten away and Leslie was still in his clutches and he…

He was brooding about it.

The fact that Leslie was not back in her clinic helping people gnawed at him. It was like an infestation of rats clawing and chewing their way out of his gut and he had nothing to calm it down. His stomach twisted and turned, a nauseated feeling working its way up into his mouth. He hadn't eaten in awhile, so there was nothing in his stomach to throw up to relieve this sickening feeling, so he was stuck with it.

What was worse was that if he had a few more minutes, if that, he would've had the two-faced Harvey in custody. While the ex-DA had proven to have a few fighting moves, in a prolonged fight the vigilante would've won. He felt that to his very bones.

That explosion from the cruise liner had come out of nowhere. He hadn't expected it and Dent probably didn't either. After all, his goal had been to seize the large ship, not destroy it, or so the dark-clad man thought. According to Huntress, Harvey's men had seemed just as surprised as she had at the surprising blast.

And unlike him, at least the purple-clad woman actually apprehended some of the people she fought.

Batman then lowered his gaze to his armor. As if this night wasn't any more of a disaster for him, there was damage to the suit as well, the force of the explosion seeing to it. While the outside had your run-of-the-mill chips, tears, and punctures—nothing that couldn't be fixed by hand—it was the electrical wiring and systems that had taken significant damage. The electrical current in his gauntlet wasn't working, the cowl had difficulty shifting through the various vision modes, and the linkage to the various vehicles was cut. A new suit was needed since trying to find the problem with each and every system would take just as long to sort out as it would to simply replace it. It wasn't like money was a factor.

Then, as if to add insult to injury, Harvey's attack at the docks wasn't the only thing going on that night. A rash of violence had torn through the streets of Gotham. Businesses had been attacked, people assaulted. However, despite the damage done, it had been contained somewhat.

On the computer monitor was a city map of Gotham. Red X's indicated what places had been hit and if Batman weren't mistaken, they were all part of Harvey's racketeering operation. Businesses and people that paid the man for his protection.

Those people had been specifically targeted. Hitting a few keys on the keyboard, a picture of one such building appeared in a new window. The Dark Knight's eyes narrowed at the damage done. While there was evidence of gunfire, what really got his attention were the large gashes in the brick-and-mortar, not to mention the sheetrock inside the building. If he wasn't mistaken, they looked more like claw marks.

Batman's hand clenched into a fist. The attack of Two-Face's businesses and fronts, the explosion at the docks-they were targeting the former DA specifically.

"Idiot," he reprimanded himself. He would've seen it before had he not been wallowing in self-loathing. Again he was typing on the keyboard until a window showing the video footage of the quarry deal appeared. Immediately stopping it on a zoomed-in frame of Eddie Foster, Batman glared at the image.

He should've known. There was a rival group challenging Harvey Dent for Gotham. This quarry deal was just part of something bigger, he had no doubt about it. Eddie Foster was in this group, though it was highly doubtful he was running it.

Which meant there was a mastermind behind the scenes. Whatever had been part of the quarry deal, it hadn't been used this time. The violence in the streets hadn't used anything chemical in nature and as far as he knew, the cruise liner explosion hadn't released any chemicals either.

There was something else coming.

First, Harvey Dent took on the criminal underworld and firmly put it underneath his thumb; now there was a rival group preparing, if not launching a whole new offensive to challenge his authority. All of this had the smell of a brewing Mob War.

That realization made Batman slump in his chair. It was bad enough that he had lost so much ground to Harvey Two-Face in the last few months, but now a second front was opening and there was no doubt in his mind that this rival group would just as willing take him out as they would Two-Face.

A sense of despair fell upon the vigilante. Before him was a war on two fronts, one by his former ally, the other by a player yet to be named.

And he was losing ground against both.

* * *

The wind whipped at Black Canary's hair. The hum of the motorcycle engine vibrated through her legs as she rode the bike down the street. Katana and Manhunter were keeping up with her as well. However, unlike most nights, they had a tagalong.

It probably shouldn't surprise her that Green Arrow had his own bike. He had even called it the Arrow-cycle with pride. It was cheesy to be honest and no way was she going to be riding around with the even more ostentatiously named Arrow-mobile. It was one thing to be riding with the Batmobile—there was some serious street cred to do that—it was another with a car that was almost a rip-off of said Batmobile.

So it was the Arrow-cycle that joined them. It was definitely custom-made, which made Black Canary suspect this guy had some serious funding, either third-party, or his own. Green Arrow rode behind the Birds of Prey, whether it was a courtesy or he didn't know his way around Gotham like they did, she wasn't sure.

Tonight's mission was tracking down this Dr. Milo guy. All four of them had spent time researching up possible locations for the scientist, considering what they knew of him. Since he had used an abandoned vet clinic to not only concoct his enhanced Man-Bat serum, but to keep his test subjects as well, there was a need for a laboratory setup with room for animal cages.

None of them had found another abandoned vet clinic, or even one that was having reports of monsters running about, so that was crossed off. They looked into doctor clinics next since one could be converted just as easily into Milo's old place. That had also come back negative.

A zoo was another possibility, but there was only one in Gotham: the Gotham Zoo. They had met up there and searched the place, finding no signs of foul play afoot. With that dead end brought them to the present, with the four vigilantes driving to their next destination.

Next on their list was a warehouse in the Industrial Sector. Word had it people had been hearing of weird sounds and were keeping away. It sounded like a possible Man-Bat nest, but since it was only a rumor, it had dropped low on their list of suspected places. Another thing was the lack of a lab setting there, not that Milo couldn't build his own; he seemed like a man more willing to use what was available than build a place from scratch.

" _Canary, you read me?"_ Manhunter's voice rang in her ear.

"I read you," the blonde replied back.

" _Look up ahead towards that factory,"_ her comrade said. _"Is it just me, or am I seeing lights?"_

Looking ahead, Black Canary saw what Manhunter was getting at. If she wasn't mistaken, that place was a chemical factory and there were indeed lights on in the building. However, the lights were only in one part of the building versus all over. That didn't seem right to her.

"Let's check it out," she ordered.

Peeking over her shoulder, Black Canary looked to Green Arrow, just in time for the vigilante to sag his shoulders. This wasn't the first time the Birds of Prey had stopped on their mission to put down thieves and muggers, nor would it be the last. The green-clad man was clearly annoyed with the interruptions, but he wasn't going to verbalize it. Wise decision on his part.

It took several minutes before the four arrived at the Belton Chemical Plant. While most plants had a history with the city, such as Ace Chemicals, Belton didn't. It was rather new, if Black Canary was correct, so there wasn't much known about it other than environmentalists hated the place. Killing the engines to their motorcycles, all four swung their legs off and gathered to look at the light pouring through a few windows.

"Katana, see what you can find out," Black Canary ordered. In response, the Asian woman took off silently, disappearing into the shadow of the plant. It was always best to get some intelligence before going guns blazing into what could be a bad situation.

"So this is how you gals get your kicks on a Friday night," Green Arrow commented after a moment. He was leaning against his Arrow-cycle, arms crossed over his chest as he waited.

"Something like that," Manhunter grunted in response.

"You know, I would've preferred the club scene myself. I bet the three of you could turn some heads."

Lord, was this guy a flirt. Part of Canary was willing to play along, but they were on the cusp of pulling off a bust. There was a time and place for flirting and this wasn't it. That didn't stop Arrow, though.

"Say, now that I'm thinking about it, why don't the three of us swing by one of the clubs? I'm sure they'll let us go in with our masks. We could dance the night away, or drink it, whichever you prefer."

"Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?" Manhunter snapped at him.

Green Arrow shrugged his shoulders. "It's just a thought."

"A dumb thought."

 _Agreed,_ Black Canary thought, but now wasn't the time for bickering either. "Hush, you two. We don't want to let everyone know we're out here."

Instead of cooperating, Green Arrow leaned backwards, moving his arms so that his hands could rest behind his head. "The things I do to make women happy," he sighed rather loudly.

"I'm going to hit him," Manhunter growled lowly. "I'm going to hit him, knock him out, then bury his body."

"Tempting," Black Canary agreed.

"Something is going on here."

All heads snapped towards the shadows, Katana emerging from them. She seemed to be ignoring the childish spat that was going on. "I saw many people in the plant," she reported. "It looked like they were stealing chemicals."

"Which is where we come in," Black Canary said. "Katana, take Manhunter with you and block their exit. Arrow and I will flank them and force them to you."

"Thank heaven," Manhunter said before she began walking towards Katana, who merely turned around and led her companion back into the shadows.

"So, you wanted some alone time with me," Green Arrow spoke, a grin on his face.

 _Asshole._ "I just wanted to make sure Manhunter didn't bash your head in with her staff," she replied before she began walking away. Arrow was quick to follow her, the sound of his footfalls growing louder as he caught up.

"Got a plan?" he asked once he was matching her stride for stride.

"We're going through the roof."

"That's a start." The green vigilante then grabbed her shoulder, causing the blonde woman to stop. He then pulled out his bow and notched an arrow onto it. Aiming up, he then fired it up towards the top of the plant, a cord following it in its wake. There was a faint sound and the rope dangled in front of Green Arrow, the man grabbing it.

"You want to climb the whole way up?" Black Canary asked incredulously.

"Heck no," he responded quickly, right before he wrapped an arm around her. "I do recommend you hold on tight."

Before she knew what was going on, Green Arrow pulled down on the cable. A split-second later and he shot up into the air, Black Canary immediately wrapping her arms around him as she ascended with him. The hair beat at their hair and bodies until they reached the roof of the plant.

The Emerald Archer hauled her over the building's ledge before he pulled himself up. Blinking her eyes, Canary then saw the shaft of the archer's arrow, the rope clearly coming out of the shaft.

"Trick arrow," the man explained as he released his hold on the rope. The rest of it immediately returned to the arrow, disappearing within it. "It's almost like a grapple, without the telltale bang to it."

Huh, so this guy did have a couple of good tricks on him. Giving him a smile as a reward, Black Canary then walked towards a glass enclosure, looking through the glass once she reached it.

It seemed the main plant was here as she saw a large room with dozens of large tanks. Far below, she caught sight of men moving canisters about, loading them up in a truck that was facing a closed gate. Yep, definitely a theft.

Spotting a small lock towards the bottom of the glass pane of the enclosure, Black Canary immediately pulled out a lock pick and got to work. The lock didn't stand a chance as it was undone. Carefully, she pulled the glass pane up.

Green Arrow was at her side then. He stabbed his grapple arrow into the gravel of the roof before tossing the rope through the opening. Seeing the cord landing on top of one of the tanks, Black Canary then grabbed onto the cable and slid herself feet first into the plant.

A couple minutes later, both vigilantes were on the tank and looking down on the men at work. All of them were wearing black from head to toe, including strange black masks. They were loading up the truck, though it was unclear if they were just starting or almost finished. "We need to take out the truck," Black Canary whispered.

"I can take care of that," Green Arrow replied as he pulled out an arrow and notched it to this bow. Getting a good idea of what the man was about to do, Canary moved back, looking over the side of the tank until she found what she was looking for—a metal ladder. Mounting the ladder, she heard Green Arrow release his arrow, her eyes catching sight of him pulling out another bolt.

There were a couple cries of surprise then, and Black Canary knew she had to move quickly. With her hands, she gripped the ladder while she moved her feet off the steps and onto the outside. Loosening her grip, she slid down the ladder, friction causing her gloved hands to heat up.

"There's someone up there!" a man cried out by the time Canary reached the floor. Settling on her feet, she waved her hands in a poor attempt to cool them down. It would take a minute for the burning sensation to go away, so she chose to ignore it as she peeked around the chemical tank. Several of the thieves were pulling out guns and aiming it towards the top or the tank. A couple arrows were sticking out of the tires of the truck, deflating them, and causing the vehicle to lean to a side.

Pulling out a handful of throwing stars, Black Canary sent them flying at the men, watching with satisfaction as the stars collided with the hands of the thugs, causing them to scream out in pain from the edges piercing into their skin. They dropped their guns to clutch at their injured hands, their bodies seeming to cringe at the sight of them.

And then Green Arrow shot another arrow, one that seemed to explode several feet above the men. However, the explosion was merely smoke as a giant net was released, falling on top of two, maybe three men and dropping them down to the ground effectively restrained.

Darting behind the tank, Black Canary then moved towards the other side, darting from it and behind a different tank. Gunfire then rang out, but none of the bullets were aimed at her. It seemed her "partner" had their full attention.

Which was perfect as she continued to use the tanks as cover until she was closer to the men. Seeing one thug slowly walking sideways towards the tank she was behind, eyes focused at Arrow's perch, Black Canary went into action. Dashing behind him, she kicked at the back of his knee, causing it to buckle as he dropped to one knee, crying out. Crossing an arm in front of her chest, she then jerked back, ramming her bent elbow into the base of his skull and knocking him out.

The closest thug was several feet away and he heard the commotion from his friend getting knocked out. By the time he turned to face them, Black Canary was on him, leaping into the air as she slammed a kick into his face. Knocking him off his feet, the guy nearly did a flip as he fell back, landing hard on his head on the ground, and going limp right then and there.

And then the metal gate exploded.

Pieces of shrapnel went flying through the air, causing Black Canary to take cover behind the truck. For a couple of the thugs, they weren't so lucky as pieces of metal struck them, stabbing into them, or cutting off chunks of their body.

Emerging from the smoke of the explosion was Manhunter, holding her staff out in front of her. "Alright, who else wants a piece?" she announced.

The thieves who were still on their feet weren't sure what they were supposed to do then. Between keeping gunfire at Green Arrow, or turning their sights onto Manhunter, they seemed to be at an impasse. For one of the thugs, he wasn't able to make a decision as a green boxing glove rammed into the side of his head, and sent him crashing to the ground.

Darting forward, Black Canary rushed another thug, who was close to the truck. Again, she landed a kick to his knee, causing it to buckle. However, this time she grabbed the side of his head and bashed it against the truck once, then twice, before dropping him to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Katana race by, her sword slicing through gun barrels, rendering them useless, before she went to knock her foes out.

Before she knew it, all of the masked men were lying on the ground in various forms of unconsciousness. For the ones unlucky enough to be awake, they were rolling on the floor as they grasped at injured body parts.

"Looks like we'll need to call an ambulance or two," Manhunter quipped while watching the men.

Katana was next to one of the men, examining his injury. "Not too deep," she announced as she stood up. "Not fatal."

"That's good."

It was about then that Green Arrow joined the women. He stopped long enough to look into the back of the truck, his face growing serious. "That's quite a shopping spree in there. What are a bunch of hired thugs wanting with this stuff?"

Black Canary joined the archer to look in the back of the truck. It was loaded with canisters, nearly reaching the vigilantes. It seemed they had arrived just in time to interrupt this robbery.

However, before she could include her two cents, she heard a faint sound. Frowning, she tried to focus on it, but didn't hear it again.

"I suppose we should ask one of these guys what they're up to and who wants their hauls," Manhunter suggested.

That was a good idea and—

There it was again. That sound, it sounded as if it were a piece of cloth flapping. Fluttering perhaps? And...there was some high-pitched chirp, if she weren't mistaken.

It seemed Katana had picked up on it too. "Shhh," she shushed, her hand gripping onto the hilt of her sword tightly. "Something's coming."

Immediately, all of their crouched into defensive stances. Holding their weapons of choice, they all turned their backs to each other, looking in different directions to spot the source of the sound.

It came again, and this time there was no mistaking that there was something coming. In fact, it happened again, and then again, with less of a time interval.

And then, from around the tanks, small Man-Bats rushed out towards them.

Immediately, Green Arrow fired an arrow at one of them, the bolt narrowly missing one of the creature's wings. The Man-Bat screeched as it sped by them, leaving its two compatriots to dive bomb the vigilantes.

Black Canary dove to a side as she dodged a Man-Bat swooping at her, just in time for Manhunter to swing her staff, nailing the sucker in midair and knocking it away. Getting a good look at the flying creatures, the blonde realized all of them were smaller than the typical Man-Bat. If she weren't mistaken, they were about the size of the ones she and Katana found at the vet clinic.

So these were Animal-Bats.

One of the Animal-Bats made a beeline right for Katana. The woman darted to a side before swiping at the creature with her sword. Somehow, it dodged the swing, seeming to jerk in a completely different direction in midair. It was awkward and strange-looking all at once, but it served the bat-creature well.

By then, Green Arrow had another arrow on his bow, taking aim at one of the Animal-Bats. Unbeknownst to him, the one that Manhunter had knocked aside had recovered and came swooping in behind him, its mouth open wide.

"Behind you!" Black Canary shouted, causing the archer to jerk his head to look behind him. His eyes widened for a second as the Animal-Bat made a gagging sound before it puked out a green fluid out of its mouth. Green Arrow dove to a side, going into a roll so that he could end up back on his feet. The green spit hit the floor where he had been standing and immediately a hissing sound was made, smoke wafting up towards the ceiling.

Jesus Christ, that was acid!

The acid-spitting Animal-Bat swooped by, rising higher into the air as he made to swing back around. Movement out of the corner of her eye alerted Black Canary to another one that was flying right for her. Instinctively, she raised a leg up and then swung it to her side, leaning as she did so. Her kick nailed the charging Animal-Bat, causing it to screech as it was pushed aside in its flight.

A moment later and the same Animal-Bat was hit with a boxing glove attached to the end of an arrow.

 _How many of those does he have?!_ Black Canary jerked her head to the archer, who tipped his hat at her before looking to the other Animal-Bats. Manhunter was swinging her staff at one, which narrow dodged it before swooping up higher into the air. That caused the blonde to frown. From what she could tell, they had landed some pretty good blows to these things, yet nothing had taken even one of them down. Resilient little devils, they were.

Yet, she knew of one thing that would work on them.

As the acid-spitting Animal-Bat came at her, its mouth wide open as it began to spit at her, Black Canary quickly pulled out a small device from her belt. Darting to one side, she saw the acid spray fly by, hitting the floor as she expected it to. However, she kept close enough so that she could throw the device in her hand point-blank at the creature. It hit right on its leg and she watched with satisfaction as the device seemed to bend on itself, wrapping around the leg and securing to it.

Good, now onto Phase II. "Cover your ears!" she shouted, sucking in her breath a second later. She didn't have to look at the others to know they knew her warning well. Letting out a scream, her Canary Cry rang out, the Animal-Bats suddenly convulsing in air.

Unlike her previous uses though, Black Canary only held on for a few seconds before stopping the Canary Cry. Closing her mouth, she then heard the Animal-Bats screeching before they all retreated back between the tanks.

Immediately, the blonde vigilante ran after them. Weaving between the tanks, she knew she was losing ground as they flew, but as they reached the end, she noticed them dropping altitude before vanishing entirely behind a tank.

Hurrying, she reached the tank and slowed her pace, noticing a metal gate lying on the nearby ground. It looked trashed, as if something had attacked it. The metal bars were bent and twisted, no longer straight. Glancing away from it, she soon spotted a small ramp that dropped down to what looked like the entrance of a pipe. There was some damage surrounding the pipe, making Black Canary think that this was where that gate had been.

"Canary, what the hell?" Manhunter demanded as she caught up to her. Behind her were Katana and Green Arrow, both of him were looking at her expectantly.

"Those bats flew this way," Black Canary told them, pointing at the drain entrance. "My guess is they originated somewhere down there and we need to follow them back to their nest."

"Was that why your Canary Cry was so short? So that they were frightened back?"

She nodded. "Yeah." She then reached inside of her jacket before pulling out a small, handheld device. Hitting a button, a small screen lit up, flashing a soft red light. "I placed a tracer on one of the bats. This should lead us right to its home."

"That looks like a sewer drain," Green Arrow said then. "You think it's living down there?"

"Only one way to find out. You chicken?"

The archer looked offended by the jab. "Absolutely, but never in front of women. Let's go find these monsters. Since they look like Milo's creations, he's gotta be where they're going."

Canary returned her sights to the pipe. "Alright then, let's go."

* * *

Leslie had known this was inevitable. With the kind of lifestyle these men had chosen, injuries always followed. Because of the kind of person she was, she knew that she would do her very best to ensure their survival, though that meant patching them back together only for them to place themselves in a dangerous situation once more.

So there was really little change in that aspect.

A lot of the injuries were superficial, cuts, scratches, maybe bruises resulting from blunt force trauma, but there was very little in the fatal area. The men, however, were very sullen, keeping quiet instead of being boisterous. The doctor took that as a sign that things had not gone well tonight.

Once she had finished with them, she had been brought into the back where she was checking over the last of her patients. That patient in particular was none other than Dent who seemed to share the stoicness of his men. It was very obvious that he was upset about something, most likely tonight's events.

The disfigured man had nothing worse than some extensive bruising, and he had signs that he had been in a fight. She made no remark about it as she finished up disinfecting any cuts he had and checked for any hints of a concussion.

"You seem to be fine, given your current state," she stated as she finished up her examination.

Dent grunted as he pushed himself back onto his feet, slipping his suit coat back on. He didn't appear to be in a conversational mood, simply content to get this all over with.

"You seem to have something on your mind. Talk, maybe it'll help," she offered as she placed aside a small flashlight.

"I'll pass," the disfigured man grunted.

"It's obviously bothering you," Leslie pointed out. "A man in your position can ill-afford to have even the slightest distraction. If you do not wish to confide in me, then find someone you can. One mistake can and will cause the deaths of the people dependent on you."

Two-face snorted. "It's already too late for that, doc. Right now, my only competition is giving me the runaround. And now, some of my best guys are at the bottom of the harbor and on top of that, someone took the opportunity to move in on _my_ turf."

"So then what do you suppose you'll do?" she pressed. "Whatever it is, it will result in more death, more damages, and the cycle will continue from there."

"You're right about one thing, I do have to do something," Two-face stated. "Everything I have built is being threatened. And by some two-bit thugs and wannabe gangsters. There's only one thing I can do, and that's hit back and hit back hard. Show them just who they're messing with."

"Or you could give up this mad quest and end the misery this conflict is causing," the doctor cut in. "That is still an option, Harvey."

"And then what? Go to prison? That hardly sounds like an option," he retorted, giving her a look. "It's way too late to go back. There is no going back. Not anymore."

"According to whom?" she argued back.

"I know I may not look like it now, but I was a lawyer once. I know the consequences of the choices I've made, probably better than anyone else here." Dent was looking wistful, looking at a point or seeing a vision that Leslie did not have access to. "It's all a gamble. This, life, everything. Sometimes, the only choice has to come with a flip of a coin. Because sometimes, the only choices are evil, are wicked, and no matter what you do, suffering will always result. So tell me, doc, why should I not embrace this?"

"Because you were a good man once. And that good man is still inside you. That's something not even a coin flip can give you." Leslie crossed her arms and stared at the other man challengingly. "You can still be that good man, Harvey. All you have to do is choose."

"You assume I was always a good man from the start." Dent shook his head deprecatingly. "But you have some guts, trying to shove your philosophy down my throat. So I'll tell you what, let's leave it up to chance." Pulling out his scarred coin, he continued, "Good heads, I end this, and turn myself in, face whatever punishment is coming for me. Bad heads, I show this whole city that I'm the one in charge and whoever thinks they can take me better be ready to dig in because I will burn this city to the ground if I have to to make an example out of them."

"This is probability, Harvey. A crutch. Don't rely on that coin, take control of your life," Leslie said, letting some passion leak into her voice. She would not show how worried she was about the extremes Dent had put forth before her.

"Everything is probability, Dr. Thompkins," Dent quipped. "Everything comes down to dumb luck. So why not a fate altering decision that has the power to bring great good or great evil? No one knows whether they'll give birth to the next messiah or the next Hitler. Whether saving a life will doom so many others or taking it will save those same lives. So let's see what chance has in store for Gotham."

Up into the air the coin went, and while Two-face eagerly awaited the result, Leslie Thompkins eyed it scornfully. This whole thing was ridiculous, to leave such an important decision to something like this! Did this man really have so little control over his life that he was going to use a coin as a moral crutch?

Catching the coin, Two-face slapped it on the back of his other hand then revealed what lay beneath it.

"Bad heads it is," he chuckled.

"You can't be seriously determining life and death with a coin," Leslie deadpanned.

"And why not? I could do a lengthy trial and appeal approach, but that would take years," Two-face jested. "No, my mind's made up. If they want a fight, I'll give them a war."

Standing up, he started away. His parting words were, "And if I tear the city in two, so be it."


	15. Night of the Spoilers

Night of the Spoilers

Black was _sooo_ overused.

It seemed Gotham spat out vigilantes that practically owned stock in the color. While it simply worked for some, others were clearly pretenders. This was a big reason why _this_ costume would be different.

After all, how many heroes did you see wearing pink these days?

Stephanie stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her fashionable choice for the evening. The pink body suit was just _her._ She wasn't sure where it had come from, mainly because she had found it by chance in some of her mom's old stuff. Had to be an 80's thing or something. It hugged to her young woman's body, something she definitely approved of.

She had also added a cape and hood to it. This would help her make a statement while also hiding her identity. She had twirled around in place to get the full effect and had become instantly giddy at the effect.

However, a solid color was not the way to go for a costume. The bodysuit was one thing, but she needed something else for the rest of the costume. With her moratorium on black firmly in place, she had searched high and low for something to offset it, yet complete the ensemble. The longer it took to find that color, the more Stephanie felt that she was gonna have to eat her words and give into black.

Which is when she found them. The gloves and boots were of the same material, not to mention color. They were a dark blue, so dark they were practically black. A guy on the street would probably just call them black, but anyone with a keen eye would be able to tell they were most certainly blue. She had even scored a mask too, same color and everything. It was almost as if fate were telling her she was doing the right thing.

Adding to the uniqueness of her costume, the boots were of different lengths too. One was your normal, everyday, calf-high boot. The other went right above her knee. Thankfully the material was flexible enough that she could kneel it in, though the top would open up annoyingly every time she did. A strap wrapping around it solved that problem, though it made it look like she was wearing a garter.

Unfortunately, that's where her luck ended. Seeing as the vigilantes had utility belts to carry their stuff in, it made sense that Stephanie needed one too. She found that belt at a hardware store, but it was of that boring tan/khaki color. There was also no way she could replicate the shade of blue she wanted on it either, so she had settled for making it black, much to her chagrin.

It seemed you couldn't get everything you wanted in life.

Pulling at the edge of a leather strap that ran over her shoulder and across her body, Stephanie gave her final approval at her outfit. Now was the time; she was ready. Grabbing the mask that had been lying on her desk, she pulled it on over her head, and then pulled her hood up.

 _Oh yeah, this look was_ so _killer._

"Watch out, Gotham," she said lowly. "It's time for crime to meet its Spoiler."

* * *

The worst part about the sewers was the smell. There was nothing a person could do to prepare themselves for it since the stench permeated every square inch of the underground tunnel system.

There was no sense of time down here. All Black Canary knew was that they had been down here a long time. It could've been the same night, the next day, a week later—it could've been anything. Lo and behold though, Green Arrow had a watch on him and he was adamant they were going on a day down here.

Canary wasn't going to fight him on that. Neither were the rest of the Birds.

Looking at the tracking device in her hand, the blonde vigilante saw they were no closer to their prey than when they hard started. The moment the Animal-Bat had sought refuge down here, it had pretty much gone up and down the sewers, as if it suspected it was being followed. In all likelihood, it had gotten just as lost as they had become and just kept flying around. Currently it was in one place and hadn't moved for a few hours.

"I think we're gaining on it," Green Arrow whispered to her over her shoulder. He was peeking at the device from behind her with no sense of propriety. Then again, considering how they all felt and smelled, it didn't really matter.

"About damn time," Manhunter grunted. "I'm getting sick of looking at all this crap down here."

Wasn't that the truth. Still, Canary focused on the screen to make sure she wasn't seeing things. Just as Arrow had claimed, they were gaining ground. Thank the Lord!

"Anyone know where we are?" Katana asked.

"No clue," Black Canary answered her. "Hopefully this thing is leading us to some cistern intake, or something. The less accessible the place, the less it came into contact with any people."

That was when they picked up on a sound. It started as a low murmur, but gradually grew louder the further along they walked. "Sounds like a machine," Manhunter remarked.

Soon, they reached what was best described as a shoot. The current of the sewer water picked up as it was funneled into it, pouring down into a pit of water. On the other side was a series of pipes, large ones too, that extended out of the pit, rising up along a wall, and up into the ceiling.

"Damn, a dead end," Manhunter groaned.

Black Canary was in agreement with that assertion, except that the tracker was indicating the Animal Bat was close by. In fact, it was likely somewhere above them.

"A ladder," Katana suddenly said, drawing the attention of the group. The Asian woman was pointing to a metal ladder, one that was covered in rust. Above it was some sort of doorway, closed shut.

"I don't care where that leads to, we're taking it," Manhunter proclaimed.

Green Arrow was the first to the ladder, scaling it until he reached the ceiling. He pushed a hand against it, but it didn't budge. Pushing harder, the archer had no further success. "It's locked from the other side," he informed them.

Immediately, the brunette woman had her bo staff in her hands. "Leave it to me."

One blast from the staff blew the door away. Arrow once more climbed the ladder and poked his head through the opening. "All clear," he told them before he slipped through the hole.

One by the one, the Birds of Prey followed him until they were in a large room. Even was even louder here, which explained one no one was coming to check out the small explosion Manhunter had created. The entire place was covered with boilers, machines, and catwalks. There was a half-wall next to the vigilantes, the other side showing a constantly moving flow of water.

"This is a waste treatment plant," Green Arrow told them, his voice yelling so that he could be heard over the noise.

"What's that?" Black Canary asked.

"It's where they clean waste water—sewage and all that."

"How would you know that?"

"Because I'm familiar with some aspects of organic farming. Some organic farmers come to places like this to pick up fertilizer."

There was a brief pause. "Are you saying—?"

"Best not to think about it. Just know you're eating healthy."

Making a mental note to check her fridge and pantry when she got back, Black Canary instead fell in line with the other vigilantes as they mounted a catwalk, using it to cross the room. On the opposite side was a series of windows, tinted dark for who knows why. On the walls to either side of them were railings, walking areas which led to doors. Those would have to be checked out, though it seemed Green Arrow was leading them to the end of the catwalk.

As they reached the end, they were on a small walking area, a door leading to the room with the multiple windows. Grabbing the doorknob, the green archer turned it and opened the door.

They were greeted with the sight of a control room. There were computer terminals lining the wall with the windows. The wall opposite the windows had a few large computer banks, but more importantly were cages filled with stray animals and Animal Bats. On the other side of the room was a table with a laboratory set up.

And looking at them from a chair was a lanky man with a haircut that looked better on Moe Howard.

Instantly, Green Arrow had his bow drawn, an arrow notched against the string. "Milo," he growled.

"You again," Milo shot back, jumping to his feet. "You just won't leave me alone, will you?"

"What can I say, I'm like a bad penny, I always show up. And I'm your bad penny, Frankenstein."

A scowl appeared on the scientist's face. "Then I better take care of that penny." At this, he raised a hand up, a small device clutched between his fingers. "Hope you enjoy being bat food."

He pressed a button and instantly all of the doors to the animal cages swung open. Despite this, the only animals to come charging out were the Animal-Bats, the normal strays huddling as far back into their cages as they could.

In response, Manhunter and Katana leaped forward, the former swinging her bo staff and nailing the nearest Animal-Bat in the head, the latter using her sheathed sword to attack another.

In a flash, Green Arrow released his arrow, the long projectile flying as a blur between the two women. Black Canary watched the arrow pass right through the leathery wing of an Animal-Bat—the creature screaming out of pain—and then strike Milo in the shoulder. The force of the arrow caused Milo to careen backwards until his back collided with the wall, the arrowhead embedding itself in the sheetrock.

Milo screamed as he clutched at the shaft in a vain effort to pull it out. In the meantime, Arrow hefted his bow up so that he grabbed it by its bottom. Much like the two women in front of him, he began swinging the bow, hitting at the Animal-Bats as they fluttered towards him.

It was admirable really, that the three of them were trying not to injure the bat-creatures. It wasn't their fault they had been transformed by the deranged scientist. However, from her position at the rear, Black Canary could see pummeling these things wasn't a long term solution. As Manhunter knocked an Animal-Bat into the wall of cages, the little monster dropped to the floor, laid there for a few moments, before awkwardly pushing itself up and going back into flight.

The same thing happened to Green Arrow as he hit an Animal-Bat in front of him, causing it to fall to the floor, where he hit it again, then moved on. A few moments later and the Animal-Bat was getting back up.

Katana seemed to have a little bit more success. Pinning a frantic Animal-Bat onto a computer terminal with her sword sheath, she then chopped it at its neck with a hand, the Animal-Bat going limp and slowly sliding off the terminal.

As for Black Canary, she had jumped into the air spinning, lashing out a leg, perfectly-timing her kick as her foot collided with an Animal-Bat. Unfortunately, all it did was go careening through the air before it corrected itself, screeching as it made to come at her again.

This couldn't go on any longer.

There was only one choice Black Canary had. While she was reluctant to use it in most cases, she really didn't want to do it here, not with all the cowering strays and—as much as she didn't like him—Milo present. This would hurt them as much as the Animal-Bats. Unfortunately, there weren't other options presenting themselves.

"Ears!" Black Canary cried out, the only warning she gave. Immediately, her comrades dropped to a knee, their weapons falling to the floor as they pressed their hands against their ears. A split-second later, the blonde vigilante unleashed her Canary Cry.

The response was instant. All of the Animal-Bats spastically dropped in the air, a visible change in their flight patterns. In fact, many ran into the walls, cages, and windows of the room, the sound of their bashing bodies filling the room, though noticeable dull due to the Canary Cry. Milo could be seen with his mouth wide open in a silent scream, his hands gripping at his ears.

And then Black Canary stopped. Several of the Animal-Bats were lying on the floor, their torsos inflating and deflating as the only sign they were still alive. Considering they didn't stir once the Canary Cry stopped, they had either been knocked unconscious prior, or had hit themselves so hard against the solid surface they had, it had knocked them out.

Still, there were a few that were still conscious. Seeing one close by, Black Canary delivered a solid kick to its head, rendering it unconscious immediately. Manhunter and Katana had moved shortly after that, making sure to knock the creatures out as well.

Green Arrow didn't respond nearly as fast. "I'm never gonna get use to that ringing," he muttered as he stumbled up onto his feet. He used his bow to balance himself for a moment before he made to join the Birds of Prey in ending the Animal-Bat threat.

Once Black Canary was sure all of the threats were finished, she turned her attention to Milo. The scientist was still pinned to the wall, his face twisted with pain. He must not have guarded himself from the initial Canary Cry—the look on his face was a dead giveaway.

That didn't stop Green Arrow from moving right in front of him and grabbing the man by his shirt. "So Milo, it's time for us to have a very long awaited talk."

"What did you do to me?!" he demanded, has voice louder than his earlier tone.

"Not me friend. You see, you just got a taste of a good old-fashioned Gotham buttkicking. If you had any good sense, you would've have never come here. Next time I recommend Metropolis."

"I hear it's nice this time of year," Manhunter added humorously.

Green Arrow smirked at the brunette before his face became all business. "Alright, Milo, spill. How did you get your hands on the Man-Bat serum."

Milo glared at the archer through squinted eyes. "I won't tell you a damn thing."

"I figured you might say that." Green Arrow then looked over his shoulder to Black Canary. "As you probably already know, these ladies are more than just eye candy. Each one is an expert on getting information on Gotham scum, which I can assure you are tougher people than you are. Right, ladies?"

"Definitely," Manhunter chimed in.

"And the blonde over there? Can you imagine what her scream can do to you in close quarters? I mean, like right next to your ear?"

"She won't do it," Milo sneered. "I know her type. If she had no problem using that scream of hers, she would've used it at the very start, not keep it as a back-up plan."

Black Canary frowned. While this guy was right, she didn't like getting waved off.

"That is because she is a good person," Katana spoke up, walking up to Milo. "It is not a weakness to value life."

Milo looked at the approaching woman haughty. "Whatever you say—"

In a flash, Katana drew her sword and held it up at shoulder height, its tip pointed right at the scientist. She then drove it forward, stabbing her sword right into Milo's shoulder, matching the spot right where Green Arrow's arrow was lodged.

Milo screamed as his legs thrashed about. Leaning in, Katana smashed her palm against the man's mouth. "I too value life," she told him quietly, "but if you will not cooperate, I will take the necessary steps to ensure you _never_ harm another living thing."

 _Whoa,_ Canary thought as she stared at her friend. In fact, Manhunter and Green Arrow were staring at her, clearly taken back by her action and words. _Very dark, Katana._

"Now I am going to remove my hand. If your next words are not the answers we seek, I will pull my sword out and stab it in another place in your body. I warn you now, it will hurt as my sword exits your body and it will hurt again when it goes back in."

Then Katana removed her hand, just as she said she would. Immediately, Milo blurted out, "Alright, I'll talk! I'll talk!"

"Smart choice," Green Arrow responded, still looking at the Katana. He managed to tear his eyes off of the woman and refocused them on Milo. "Now where did you get the serum."

"An old colleague of mine gave it to me," Milo answered quickly. "Hadn't talked to him in years, but he somehow found me and gave me the formula to study. It didn't take me long to discover I could alter the formula to get different results."

"What kind of results?" Manhunter was quick to ask.

"Color changes, special abilities. Ones that can breathe fire, or spit acid. The possibilities were limitless."

"Fascinating," Green Arrow said dryly. "Now your source: who was it?"

Either on purpose, or without realizing it, Arrow had pulled up on Milo's shirt, which caused the sword and arrow in him to put pressure on his wounds, making him cry out. "Strange!" he screamed. "It was Hugo Strange!"

"Son of a gun," Green Arrow murmured. "The Bat was right."

Indeed. The Dark Knight had called it when they brought up the presence of these Animal-Bats. His hunch had been right all along. "It's time to take him in," Black Canary told the group.

Oddly enough, Milo smirked at her. "You sure you want to do that? Just look at me. Your friends here not only stabbed me, but threatened to do much worse. I can tell the cops you made me say what you wanted to hear under duress and get whatever charges you think you'll get thrown out."

"He has a point," Manhunter admitted. "But considering his fingerprints are all over this place, it shouldn't take a confession for him to get thrown behind bars. Given enough media attention and he'll want to be in jail, especially if PETA finds out about this."

"Regardless, we're taking him to the police," Canary reiterated. "We'll also give them the address to this place for further investigation." She then looked to Katana and Green Arrow. "You guys should pull your weapons out of him."

Though she couldn't see the vigilante's faces, she did see Milo, and there was a small part of her that was satisfied as he looked at the two petrified.

* * *

There was a breeze that could be aptly described as chilly. The blades of grace of manicured lawns were ruffled by it, the sound of tree leaves brushing against each other from the wind filling the air.

The pink-clad girl darted between buildings, poking her head out first before dashing in front of the house and disappearing onto the other side. Finding a fence, she jumped up, grabbing the top with her gloved hands and pulling herself over it. Dropping into the backyard, the Spoiler looked at the scattered toddler playsets before sneaking her way to the other side.

There was a thrill inside of her. Stephanie hadn't expected how much fun this vigilante stuff could be. She hadn't run into any bad guys in this neighborhood, but the hunt was exciting her in way she hadn't thought possible.

Reaching the other side of the yard, the girl climbed the fence again and dropped into another yard. This one wasn't as chaotic with children's toys as the previous one, but the pool next to the house had a lot of pool equipment and inflatables lying around it. There was a large bay window she could look right into the house and she couldn't help but notice the backs of heads peeking from behind a couch. There was some movie playing and Stephanie was too far to see what it was.

Still, that meant the house's owner was oblivious to her. Quickly, she darted to her left, heading again to the fence. Reaching it, she jumped to grab the top and pull herself up. Looking to her left and right, she saw a side street empty of people, though there were a few garbage cans.

Hauling herself over, the pink-clad girl landed on the pavement and took cover next to the trash cans. Her arms and legs were burning from exertion, making her consider getting a gym membership. What point was there in running around the neighborhood if she wasn't about to fight people without having already broken her third or fourth wind?

That was when Stephanie saw someone walk by the side street. At one end was a woman in a jacket and high-heels, one hand gripping the strap of her purse. She was oblivious to everything around her and didn't even look to where the young vigilante was hiding.

However, shortly after that, two men appeared, both of whom were looking in the direction the woman was walking. Both had their hands in their pockets and their pace was picking up, if Stephanie wasn't mistaken.

Oh, oh, was this what she thought it was?

Quickly, Stephanie...ahem, the Spoiler hurried to the end of the street, pressing her back up against another fence. Peeking around the corner, she realized she was right as the two men were closing in on the single woman.

Slowly, she stalked her prey. Just because these guys were clearly following this woman, it didn't mean they were up to no good. They could have been walking in the same direction for all she knew. However, she was going to make sure and if that meant being a stalker, then so be it.

The closer the men got to the women, the more the Spoiler began to feel they were up to no good. That was proven when one of the men pulled a knife out of his pocket, the gleam of streetlamps reflecting off of the metal surface. Giddily, the girl couldn't help but feel proud at her deductive reasoning skills.

"Hey, lady, what's the hurry?" knife guy called out.

The woman turned around, freezing once she saw the two men. "Can I help you?" she asked, confused.

The man then brandished his knife, causing the woman to look right at the weapon. "Yeah, you can start by handing over that purse of yours."

Immediately, she gripped onto her purse. "Please, don't hurt me," she begged.

"Don't worry, we won't," the other guys replied. "Just as long as you cooperate...and maybe entertain us…"

Well, this had gone on far enough. Deliberately, the Spoiler stood up to her full height and pointed a finger at the men. "Stop right there!" she shouted, earning her the attention of the three adults. "Put the knife away and no one gets hurt."

The men just stared at her while the woman looked confused. That...wasn't the look Stephanie had been expecting. "Uhh, what are you doing?" knife guy asked in puzzlement.

"What does it look like?" the Spoiler shot back, placing both her hands on her hips. "I am spoiling your plans of robbing this woman." She then moved her hands to grab the ends of her cape and held them out, spreading out the cape to its full extent. "Fear me, criminal scum as your night just got hella-bad thanks...to the Spoiler."

"Another wacko in a costume?" the other guy deadpanned. "You have got to be kidding me."

"This is no joke." Confidently, the Spoiler strode to the two men, dropping her grip on her cape and letting it fall behind her. She kept her hands as fists as she came to stand in front of them. "Give yourself up and you won't get hurt."

Both men blinked at her, looked to each other, then back to her. "Okay…" the guy with the knife said before he reached out with his free hand, placed it against her shoulder, and then shoved her to a side.

"Whoooaaahhh!" Spoiler cried as she stumbled away, running right into the fence. Unable to regain her balance, she toppled backwards, crashing into a couple of trashcans. The garbage inside of the cans spilled all over her as she landed on the sidewalk, becoming covered in spoiled food, old newspapers, and TV dinner boxes. "Owwww," she moaned pitifully.

"Damn, now I feel bad," the knife guy remarked. "Kid, you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Stephanie snapped, though she did nothing to get back up on her feet.

"She's a regular spitfire," knife guy's friend said. "I'd be impressed, but the spaghetti on her head is ruining her get-up."

"Forget about her," knife guy responded. "Lets…" he trailed off as he turned around to face the woman, only to find that she was nowhere to be found. "Oh great, our score ran off."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me!" the friend exclaimed.

"That's just great. Now I'm angry."

"Me too, man. You want to take some of that anger out on Ms. Too-Pink over there?"

The men looked to Stephanie, who stiffened under their gaze. She was at their mercy and everyone knew it. She didn't stand a chance if they—

"Nah, I just can't do it," knife guy said.

 _Wait, what?_

"You sure, Teddy?" his friend asked with surprise.

"Just look at her," Teddy responded, gesturing with a hand towards her. "Ain't no way I'd get any satisfaction at kicking her around. I'd probably feel worse for doing it."

"Why not shoot her then? We have ta make an example out of her, don't we?"

"But what example, Ron? She's lying in garbage! We'd just look bad for picking on her any more than we already have."

Then, as if they had completely forgotten about her, Teddy and Ron began to walk off, continuing their debate as if she didn't exist. "I kinda get where you're coming from," Ron was saying, "but we can't have people think they can mess with us and just leave. It just isn't done that way."

"You have a point, but you have to pick and choose what you do to people. It's one thing to rub out someone that has the balls to stand up to you; it's another when they ain't a threat; you get me?"

Stephanie just slumped against the trashcan behind her, her head leaning back to lie on top of it. "Good going, Steph, you just made two goons question the morality of picking on weaker people. Epic fail, girlfriend, epic fail."

* * *

 _She was in over her head...doubts...probably should quit...no idea what she was doing…_

Bluebird sat on the edge of the building, looking down onto the street. Her legs dangled below her, feeling a breeze brush against them and the rest of her body.

Nightwing and Robin's words were still bouncing around in her head. And to be honest, once she had some time to think about it, they were right. All she had going for her was her taser gun. The moment it was about of her hand, she was a sitting duck. It really sucked to know that she wasn't viewed as a fellow traveler in the night.

Admittedly, she was new at that. There were going to be times where she doubted what she was doing. Even Batman had to have had a few stumbles when he started. Hell, the first time she met him he had been on Death's door. Without her intervention, he would have died.

Yet, what about that girl? The moment Bluebird was getting her ass handed to her by those punks, anyone of those guys could've grabbed her and done unspeakable things to her. If it hadn't been for those two vigilantes, that's probably what would've happened.

Bluebird sighed. What was she even doing anymore?

Looking to the other side of the street, she saw a storefront with posters in the window. It was some advertisement for a karate class or something. Perhaps if she learned some karate, she'd be better prepared?

Or maybe she'd get full of herself again and end up worse off for it.

What was she going to do? Part of...Harper wanted to keep doing this. The exhilaration she had felt when she succeeded had been intoxicating. She wanted...needed to feel that again. But that wasn't a good reason to go stalking the streets of Gotham. It was a dangerous place and only fools thought they were invincible.

She had been one of those fools. It was fortunate things ended the way they did.

"Hand over the bag, sweetcheeks."

Shaking off her musings, Bluebird looked down to the street below. Right in front of her was a man with a gun, pointing it at a woman, who was clutching at her purse. Well, if this wasn't an old-fashion mugging.

Hefting up her taser gun, Bluebird felt the newly-attached strap tighten around her wrist. No way was she going to lose it like last time. Taking careful aim, she fired a blast of electricity down at the mugger, watching as his body seized from the jolt.

Releasing the trigger, the man then collapsed into a heap of smoking body parts. Reaching to a side, Bluebird grabbed onto a coil of rope and shoved it over the edge, watching as it fell to the street below. Eyeing the anchoring point, she then pushed herself of the ledge, twisting her body around so that she faced the building. With one hand holding the rope, the other clutching her taser gun in case she needed to use it again, and her feet pressing against the brick and mortar, she scaled down the building until she was on pavement.

"You okay, lady?" the blue-clad girl asked the moment she faced the damsel. The Lady quickly nodded her head, still clutching at her purse. "Good, do me a favor and call—"

In an instant, Bluebird stopped what she was saying. A short distance away, emerging right out of an alleyway, was a bigger thug. He had a sour look on his face and a gun in hand. Just great, were all of this city's criminals traveling in pairs? Since when did they start following the buddy system?

"Ya shoulda just let the lady hand over her purse," the man grunted before he took aim. In an instant, Bluebird grabbed the woman by her arm and dragged her into the space between two cars. The sound of gunfire rang out, sparks flying off the car in front of them as the bullet bounced off its corner.

The woman scream, kneeling down next to the vigilante. Bluebird gritted her teeth as she heard gunshot after gunshot go off. Mentally she counted each and every shot until she felt the last shot had been made. Shoving her way around the lady, the blue-clad girl leaned out around their cover, pointing her taser gun at the gunman, and fired.

Unfortunately, the guy knew a gun when he saw one and ducked back into the alleyway. The electrical blast burned through the air and struck the corner of a building forming the alley.

 _Damn it._ No way could she afford to get into a shootout. This guy had some experience with a gun, no doubt, and would hit her eventually if they just traded off fire. She needed to change this equation. "Stay here," she hissed to her damsel as she moved around her and to the other side of the car.

"Where are you going?" the woman demanded fearfully.

"To get that guy. Crawl underneath this car, it should give you some protection from stray gunfire." Not waiting to see what the woman would do, Bluebird was around the corner and slowly edging herself down the length of the car. Once she reached the hood, she peeked over car to look at the alleyway. Unfortunately from this angle, she couldn't see into it.

So she moved to the next car, careful to stay out of sight. As she neared the hood again, Bluebird then realized she had made a mistake. Since she had lost sight of her opponent, that meant she had no real idea where he was. In an effort to keep out of sight, she had allowed the guy a chance to dart between the parked cars as well.

She found this out when the guy lunged out of his hiding spot, his gun-holding arm crossed over his chest. With a roar, he swung his arm, causing Bluebird to duck. The gun slammed into the window of the car, causing the glass to shatter instantly.

Letting out a cry of surprise, Bluebird tried to back away so that she could get her taser gun up. Unfortunately, Bigfoot here wasn't going to let her do it. As she raised her weapon, the guy snapped his gun arm back across, knocking the metal gun out of her hand.

The strap around her wrist tugged at her, but it didn't give in. Because of the blow, Bluebird had her arm crossed over her chest too. Deciding to go with it, she then spun in a circle, clenching her hand into a fist. As she reached a full 360, she let out a shout as she slammed her taser gun into the side of the big guy's face. She must have hit him hard too, cause his head snapped to a side and he stumbled back a step.

Immediately, Bluebird jerked her arm back, her weapon sliding right back into her hand. Without hesitation, she fired another bolt of electricity, her aim ringing true as the man let out a scream from being shocked. Considering his size, Bluebird held the trigger longer than she normally would have; she wanted to make sure she shocked this guy into submission.

And then it was over. Letting go of the trigger and ending the blast, Bigfoot slumped to the ground, much like his friend. Staring at him, Bluebird began to feel that sense of accomplishment well up in her again.

She...she could do this.

Holding up her weapon, she gazed at the strap around her wrist. This had saved her bacon from a repeat performance. What a great idea! A smirk appeared on Bluebird's face. No way was she going to stop this.

Turning to look across the street, she saw the flyer for the karate class. It wouldn't be a bad idea to get some self-defense, or martial arts training either. Just because the strap worked this time wouldn't mean it would always work. Maybe the strap would get worn, or someone got the bright idea to cut it off; the end result would be her being helpless again. No, she needed to improve herself in all areas. She just needed to scrounge up some money for classes and she'd be well on her way.

"That's right, Gotham," she spoke out loud. "Bluebird is going to get an upgrade and then she's going to come to roost."

A moment passed. "Oh god, now I'm speaking in puns. Bad, Harper, bad."


	16. The One Thing Two-face Wants

The One Thing Two-face Wants

Jeremiah Arkham blinked his eyes blearily, so incredibly tired. Not that feeling tired or exhausted was anything new for him, what with pulling late nights frequent and doing an large caseload of patients and all the paperwork that came with it, you'd think after doing it for over twenty years he'd be used to it.

Seemed like it was catching up to him recently. The exhaustion was only part of it; his memory was also being affected. It was like he would go into autopilot, his brain glossing over details of his average day, like getting up in the morning, whether he did his morning hygiene routine, taking a break from administration and therapy sessions, the list went on.

He was starting to get a bit worried about it. Maybe what he needed to be doing is cutting back on his workload, he mused. There were some things he wouldn't be able to do, like take a six-month long vacation, and he couldn't just discontinue therapy with his patients without doing the proper procedures, referrals, etc…

No matter what, it seemed like until he could come up with some kind of solution, he was stuck.

"My, my, Jeremiah, it isn't often I see you skulking around this early in the morning."

And there was this. On this morning, Jeremiah found himself in front of the cell that housed...Strange. Why he would even want to be anywhere near this man, or even in the same building, escaped him. Oh wait, that was right, pending trial and Dr. Quinzel's evaluation, Strange would be a guest here until his competency was more than confirmed.

If only Quinzel would hurry this up. While he did know such evaluations took time, every second that man was in his asylum only increased his level of stress, which contributed to his growing exhaustion.

"This wasn't intentional," he said after a moment, putting the fingers of his right hand against his forehead. Perhaps some physical stimulation could earn him some sort of reprieve?

"If I didn't know any better, I would say you are working yourself half to death," Strange remarked casually from his place on his bed-esque cot.

Not too far from the truth, perhaps, but Jeremiah was not willing to concede to his once confidant. How he had ever let this man walk all over him, he did not know. Regardless, perhaps it was better to take his leave.

"You're seeing things, Strange. If you'll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to," the asylum head grunted, turning to match his actions to words.

"You may lie to yourself, Jeremiah, but do not lie to me," Strange quipped. The bald man tilted his head up while continuing to pillow his hands under it. From behind a pair of glasses, he peered at the tired man from between his crossed legs. A small smirk curved his lips. "I know you better than anyone else, even you. I know when you lie to me, so don't make the effort. Save some time and who knows, you might make find your life becomes so much easier."

Jeremiah couldn't help himself, he released a sneer at the imprisoned shrink. "That won't work on me, Strange. I know you for what you are, a conniving piece of shit who never should have entered these doors."

"Your hostility is precious but becoming wearisome," Strange remarked as he let his head fall back, now facing the ceiling of his small room.

"There's one thing that hasn't changed, your need to appear superior. Let's not forget where you are, stuck in a cell with no chance of escape. Eventually, this cell will becoming a prison cell, the perfect cage for you," Jeremiah spat out. "So much for being the smartest man in the room, I'd say you've fallen quite far for such a smart man. It's pathetic if you ask me."

The asylum head had hoped to cause offense, but the fallen shrink only chuckled at him. Mocking him.

"Pathetic. How such a demeaning word fits you better, I'm afraid. Lest you forget, once upon a time it was I who you relied on in managing this institution." Strange didn't even deign to look at him while he spoke. "If there is nothing I have learned better, it is that everyone reverts back to form. You may have a backbone now, but just wait. You'll always need someone with a stronger will to push you. I served that role once, I can do so again."

The psychiatrist grit his teeth together, anger rising within him. "Only in your wildest dreams."

Turning on his heel, he stomped away, ignoring some of the catcalls that were voiced by the other patients, all of whom were spectators to their conversation. Even though he could feel his face beginning to burn, Jeremiah did his best to ignore it. He couldn't let that man get under his skin or into his head.

Who knows what Strange would do there?

* * *

"We're still fishing out some of the bodies, but they're all Dent's people, no question," Bullock finished up his report.

Sarah nodded her head, keeping her counsel to herself. Turning to Sawyer, she asked her next question, "Any updates from forensics?"

"Depends," Sawyer shrugged her shoulders. "We were able to trace the brand of the envelope, but that led us to an office supply chain, meaning just about anyone could have sent it. From that standpoint, the envelopes are a dead end."

While she didn't show it, Sarah was inwardly cursing. She had been hoping that the lead Gilda Dent had given them would have been the thing that broke this apart, but it seemed like she had been grasping at straws.

Bullock was the one to voice her thoughts, though. "So it's a dead end, huh."

"Well, I did have the idea to trace the serial numbers on the bills," Sawyer replied. "It's something I noticed: those bills weren't new. Many of them were wrinkled, obviously from use. So I contacted the Secret Service, had them do their thing—"

"Hold on, the Secret Service, like the guys who protect the President?" Bullock interrupted, looking incredulous at the Metropolis transplant.

"They also do counterfeiting, it was what they were originally founded to do," Sawyer rebuffed. "They happen to have the software and the means to track down where a slip of currency has been. No one really knows about it, mostly because it isn't glamorous and pretty dull. I just received their report and I happened to see some patterns."

"What kind of patterns?" Sarah inquired.

"The usual circulatory patterns, starting from the bank the bill is issued from to the person receiving it, to when the bank gets it back from a business, then reissuing it again," Sawyer answered. "Some of the places these bills have been came from businesses involved with Dent's racketeering scheme. Based on the Secret Service's analysis, Dent's not just using those businesses for racketeering, he's also using them to launder his money. Also, there are some places that also seem to reoccur in the analysis. Clubs, primarily."

"Is there something special about these clubs?" Sawyer was right, none of this was really riveting. Quite boring, to be honest. Sarah, for all that she was trying, was finding herself losing her interest.

"Their names, for one. The Half Moon Club, Wild Deuce, The Second Chance, all of them have the number two in some way or form in their names," Sawyer stated. "For a man calling himself _Two_ -face, and the fact that some of the places he has been hitting also happened to have the number two involved in some way or form, it occurred to me that perhaps these clubs are where he has been setting up shop. Perhaps for other laundering schemes, as well as doubling for bases of operations. Some of them happened to be located in territory the Two Ton Gang had claimed as theirs before Dent recruited them as his shock troops. If you do the math, you can draw the connections."

Or you might be seeing something that might not be there.

That part went unsaid by Sarah, if only because she herself had noted the pattern of twos before. Sawyer here had just put it out in the open, so now it had to be considered.

"So this all came from tracking down where a dollar bill was found?" Bullock said, though his tone was in wonder. From how wide his eyes were, it seemed like he was having a little trouble believing this.

"This is some pretty new stuff, I'll give you," Sawyer conceded. "That's why I said depends earlier."

"It's still something to look into," Sarah declared. "We'll direct our undercovers to check out those clubs and see what they can find. There's too much of a coincidence with those names, both for the places he's hit, and those clubs. Like the commissioner has told me before, in our line of work there's no such thing as coincidence. Good work, lieutenant."

Sawyer nodded her head, presenting a professional front but the task force head could see the pride leaking out of her. Quite frankly, the Metropolis native had expanded their investigation enough that they could at the very least narrow down the places Harvey Dent was hiding.

Now onto the next officer. Hopefully Montoya could give her an update on—

A knock on the door frame of the conference room entrance interrupted her before she could get started. An officer was looking straight at her, lowering his fisted hand as he said, "Lieutenant Gordon? A guy just came in, said he had some information about Two-face. Said he needed to speak with whoever was in charge of the task force."

Sarah visibly frowned. "We're in the middle of a briefing. Who is this person and what does he know about Dent?"

"He called himself Michael Doubleday, if that name means anything to you," the officer shrugged his shoulders. "He didn't tell anybody anything else, though."

She knew that name, though it took her a moment to recall it. Michael Doubleday was a name that had cropped up whenever the former crime boss Rupert Thorne came up. Nothing ever came of his name popping up here and there, but his connection to organized crime was undeniable.

That, and the theory that Sawyer had recently brought up about the connection between Dent and the number two was still on her mind. The man's last name reeked of that theory.

Moments later, Sarah was standing in front of an impassive-looking, mousy man, the task force briefing put on hold for the time being.

"Lieutenant Sarah Gordon. Are you Michael Doubleday?" she introduced herself. When she received a nod in confirmation, she continued, "I was told you had information on Harvey Dent. What is it?"

"Before I tell you what I know, I want something in exchange: immunity," Doubleday stated, getting down to business.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "That's a very steep price. Why should I grant that to you before I've heard anything." This man did not need to know that she did not have the authority to grant immunity; that power was at the discretion of the acting district attorney. Ignorance, however, would be a useful tool for her.

"This is becoming too much," Doubleday sighed. "Two-face is becoming more and more unstable by the day. Somebody has to do something, but given what I know, what I've done, I find that I myself will be facing punishment, even though my recent deeds have been only for my survival. I need to get out of this, while I still can. I need protection, I cannot go to prison. So please, Lieutenant Gordon, let's not dance around this. Put me in some witness protection program and I will give you everything you need to know about Two-face's operations. Everything you need to take him down."

"That's a very bold claim," she remarked. "But you haven't given me anything that would convince me to give you what you want. For all I know, you too should rot in a prison cell."

"You would be a fool to turn me away," Doubleday retorted sharply, an irritable gleam in his eye. "I'm what you call the numbers guy, I do the actual administration of Two-face's...enterprise. I know everything. What's more, I know the one thing that Two-face wants more than anything. It's the one thing that if you get your hands on it first, he will come to you. He won't even think twice or flip that goddamn coin of his."

Okay, Sarah would admit she was a bit confused. What in the world was so important to Dent that he wanted it above everything else?

"Okay, I'll bite. You tell me what this thing is, and if it is as good as you say, I'll contact the district attorney's office and get you your immunity," she compromised. "But if you're wasting my time, I won't hesitate to throw you into general lock-up, the boys in there would _love_ you."

"If there is anything you can trust, I do not exaggerate," Doubleday replied.

* * *

" _...reports are coming in on sightings of the Justice League in Kahndaq. As the situation continues to deteriorate, the presence of the League may signal an end to the hostilities. We at the Channel Five news team will keep you up to date as this story unfolds…"_

Lincoln March paid scant attention to the television as he strolls through the hallways of Wayne Enterprises. He was a man on a mission today, one that had him repeatedly asking the same question over and over again.

"Has anyone seen Bruce Wayne?"

There had been a lot of no's and a few "it's not even noon yets" to that question.

This was getting a little frustrating, especially since they were moving forward with the Queen Industries collaboration. March himself had managed to insert himself into the project, citing that the parts of Wayne Enterprises that would be invested in it were ones that he himself had much involvement in. Sure, R&D was going to be the busiest with this super-steroid, but it would be the pharmaceutical division that would do the heavy lifting making it.

Because of past history with such medical experiments, it was not unexpected that the corporation was going to be overly cautious with it, even though many board members were jumping on board as quickly as possible.

This needed to be done right, and March believed keeping Wayne in the loop could only be beneficial. The board director had not forgotten the Man-bat serum debacle, or Wayne's response to it.

That man was hiding some anger behind that jester-like persona of his.

That brought him to his biggest problem in that he couldn't find the CEO, even though he had been looking for nigh on an hour at this point. He'd already checked the man's office, his usual haunts, Lucius Fox, and now he was going from office to office.

Just where the hell was he?

Coming to the next office along his path, he rapped his fist on the door before opening it up and peering into it. He recognized one of the board members immediately, first name Mariam, last name...he had forgotten what her last name was. He would have to look into that after this. Oh, and there was another board member, Richard Eisner. At least he thought that was the man's name. Neither of these two really spoke up during board meetings and when they did it was about their respective departments.

Well, who knew, maybe they knew where Wayne was stashing himself.

"Sorry to interrupt, but would either of you know where I can find Wayne. I've been looking for him all over the place," he asked his recurring inquiry.

"No idea," Richard answered. Mariam just shrugged her shoulders. Yes, very helpful.

Lincoln shook his head, muttering, "Where on earth is that man?" Maybe he hadn't been as quiet as he had hoped, because apparently he was overheard.

"Sounds like it's par for the course," Mariam remarked.

Lincoln frowned slightly. "You heard that? Sorry about that."

"No offense taken. We've been seeing less and less of Mr. Wayne over the past few months," Richard pointed out.

"Now of all times? When we need the CEO to get us through the mutant bat fiasco?" Lincoln made no mention of his involvement in said fiasco. "He told me he wanted to be kept in the loop on this latest project with Queen Industries, but when I'm trying to keep him in the loop, I can't find him."

"We've been learning to deal with it. If you have to keep someone in the loop, go to Fox," Mariam told him frankly. "If there is one thing that has remained true, Fox is pretty much the one running the company. Sure, every once in a while, Wayne begins to show up but it's only for short bursts then he's off doing whatever it is that he's does. If Fox wasn't so good at his job, doing the work of two men, Wayne Enterprises would have collapsed a long time ago."

Peering to his left and right, Lincoln took a step into the office and shut the door behind him. "Just between us, that's no way for our CEO to behave. Right now this company is teetering on the brink from scandal and the man who should be leading it is nowhere to be found. This whole saying one thing but doing another, this can't go on."

"What can we do. His name is not only the company's but also on the building. He's almost an icon on the city," Mariam replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"But a company is only managed by a CEO; the big decisions always comes from the Board of Directors," Lincoln pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "All of us here are on that board. There has to be something we can do to save Wayne Enterprises."

"The old guard is pretty much still in control," Richard said. "Dithers, for all his crabbiness and senility, would never allow anyone but a Wayne as CEO, if only because of some weird belief he has in tradition."

"Dithers looks like he should have bitten the big one years ago. What the hell is he doing still in a position of power here?" Lincoln stated.

"Oh, you know, he's the one guy who's married to his work and doesn't know when to quit. But if you get him to change his mind, he's great to have on your side," Richard remarked.

"Of course," he murmured to himself. Aloud, he said, "You think a guy who neglects his job would get him to change his mind about him?"

"It would have to be awfully bad; Dithers isn't known to change his mind often," Richard shrugged.

"Then we'll have to make him. Wayne Enterprises needs someone who's not only a strong leader, but also here. Not...running around doing who knows what, but right here, present, and getting his or her hands dirty protecting and growing it," Lincoln said. "In this day and age, we've seen businesses that were too big to fail, well, fail and disappear from the map. There is nothing that says the same thing can't happen to Wayne Enterprises. If we're to do what's best, we're going to need to start changing the hearts and minds of the people working here."

"Nice speech. Have any ideas to back it up?" Mariam asked dryly.

Giving her a wry smirk, he replied, "I might have an idea or two."

* * *

It was remarkable really. Following a trail that wasn't there had proven to be an exhilarating ride.

To be more precise, there was a trail, but it wasn't visible to the naked eye. There was no paperwork, or exchange of money that stood out. There wasn't anything traceable about it. In fact, you had to actually look at a specific point and trace it from there.

Vicki lounged in her chair as she stared at her computer screen. There was also a small pile of papers, invoices for inventory at the various warehouses she had visited. There were lines of numbers highlighted, indicating the items she had searched and found discrepancies.

And not just discrepancies that could be explained by daily theft by employees either. Sizeable amounts were missing and, coincidentally, all of those items were things that went into making someone like Batman.

It wasn't a silver bullet by any means, but it was a nail that she fully intended to use when nailing that rich bastard into his coffin.

Of course, that left Vicki pondering her next move. No doubt word would get back to Bruce Wayne at her frequent visits to his warehouses. A woman of her elegance didn't go unnoticed, after all. Naturally she had paid a couple bribes here and there to make people forget she had ever been there, but that would only go so far.

She needed to plan out her next move. The direction of her investigation needed to bring in something substantial. Though the redhead had a big find, it wasn't anything that would get Bruce Wayne's attention, not by a long shot.

This was the sole reason for why Vicki was looking contemplatively at her computer. Admittedly, she was stuck. She had wondered about finding something about the Batmobile, and while that was a promising thought, it was more than likely she'd find the same thing she found while digging up dirt on the costume and equipment.

That was when her phone rang, startling the reporter out of her troubling thoughts. Looking at the phone as it rang again, she sighed before picking it up. "This is Vale," she intoned.

" _Good afternoon, Ms. Vale. This is Commissioner James Gordon."_

Vicki froze in her seat. The police commissioner calling _her?_ After the history they had? This had to be some kind of joke. Pulling the phone away, the redhead stared at the device as if it has offended her in some way—mostly because it had and she wasn't sure how it did. Faintly, she could hear the man claiming to be Gordon speaking. _"Hello? Hello?"_

Placing the receiver back against her ear, she spoke, "I'm sorry, I just heard you say you were Commissioner Gordon."

" _That's because I am, Vale."_

That statement was said in a tone Vicki utterly recognized as Gordon. The man had perfected a balance of exasperation, annoyance, and bluntness whenever he spoke to her. "I can't say I was expecting someone of your office to call me," she said then, "especially after everything we've been through."

There was a soft muttering on the other end, something that the reporter couldn't pick up. No doubt it was some sort of insult directed at her. _"Don't remind me, Vale. Listen, I know you and your reporter friends are always on the lookout for a scoop."_

She couldn't deny that. "I'm assuming you have a scoop. Strange, usually the police commissioner isn't that kind of a source."

Dating back to the days she had been a lowly photographer, there hadn't been a commissioner that ever used themselves as a source, anonymous or otherwise. Most times they had some lackey do the dirty work so that the commissioner could claim outrage at a leak. Everyone knew it was an act, but they all played along lest they stopped getting juicy stories out of a pretty reputable source, even if they were corrupt.

" _I'm assuming that means you aren't interested,"_ Gordon said then, causing Vicki's head to perk up at the dismissal. _"If you wouldn't mind, could you transfer me to someone that will be?"_

"Before I do that, why don't' you tell me what you've got?" Vicki was quick to say. "You're only guessing as to what I'm thinking. I might not be interested later, or maybe I'll be fascinated."

" _It's your call, Vale."_

The redhead scowled. Gordon was toying with her now, forcing her to make a decision. _Asshole._ "Go ahead and tell me," she practically seethed.

As she listened to the man's voice, her eyes slowly began to widen, her free hand snatching up the nearest piece of paper and writing instrument so she could quickly jot down some notes.

Oh my, my, this was juicy. It was practically bleeding through the phone receiver. Yet, Vicki was troubled. Rarely did the police announce what they were going to do prior to actually doing it. There was something wrong about all this.

" _I'm assuming my identity will be anonymous,"_ Gordon continued, bringing the reporter back to the call. _"Otherwise, we won't ever be talking again, the First Amendment be damned."_

"Of course, you're just another anonymous source to me," Vicki quickly agreed. If Gordon was willing to give her this kind of story, there was no way in hell she was going to kill off that kind of arrangement. "I have to know, why are you doing this? Usually these kind of stories are run after the fact, not before."

" _I wouldn't worry about that for now. I can assure you more tips like this in the following days, which I'm sure will boost your job security."_

And the scowl was back. The prick, he knew a journalist's job was subject to downsizing at any time. She knew this guy was up to something and his parting shot had confirmed it. He hadn't chosen her because of her reputation; he chose her because he could have power over her.

And damn him, he was right.

"When do you need this printed?" she tried to say with as much pleasantness as she could manage. She could feel her throat rumble from a suppressed growl though, so she was doubtful she succeeded.

" _ASAP. Tomorrow morning edition if possible, the evening edition at the latest."_

"Consider it done, Commissioner."

There was a soft _click_ and the call was over. Hanging up the line, Vicki's hands shot out to her keyboard and mouse. With a couple of clicks, gone were the windows on her Wayne investigation, replaced by a prompt. As fingers began to dance on the keyboard, the words began to appear before her.

"Vale!"

 _Goddamn it, Harry, what now?_

Not bothering to tear her eyes away from the monitor, the redhead waited for her editor to storm up to her desk. The moment she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, she bluntly said, "Not now, Harry, I'm busy with something."

"You're always busy," Harry grumbled before he pressed his hands onto her desk, leaning towards her. "What are you working on? Never mind, it's not important. I have a job for you."

"That's where you're wrong, Harry," Vicki shot back, finally glancing up to her boss. "I just got a hot tip and whatever job you've got pales in comparison."

"Oh really?" he snapped back. "And what could that possibly be?"

Finally, she stopped typing. Turning her chair to face the man, the reporter leaned back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "How about a story on the impending arrest of Rupert Thorne?"


	17. A Much Needed Victory

A Much Needed Victory

The signal was lit, the ominous Bat symbol hovering over the city. It had been awhile since the Bat Signal—as it was called—had been turned on.

Gliding through the air, Batman closed in on the GCPD roof, softly touching down on the gravel surface. His cape collapsed down his back the moment he released his hold on the cloth, cutting off its access to the electrical current in his gauntlets.

Standing next to the signal light was Gordon, his back to the vigilante. Despite everything that was going on, the police commissioner always faced the same way when he turned on the Bat Signal, as if he were allowing the Dark Knight to always sneak up on him rather than try to see him make his entrance. There was something comforting about that gesture.

Without making a sound, Batman approached the older man, coming to a stop on the other side of the signal. "Jim," he greeted.

Gordon turned around, reveal the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "I was wondering if you were going to show," he returned before taking a sip of his drink.

Batman didn't respond, merely waiting for the commissioner to speak.

"I just wanted to let you know that the GCPD got a big tip on the whereabouts of Thorne," Gordon told him, which immediately got his attention. Gordon saw as much as there was a slight tilt of his head up.

"Where is he?" Batman asked.

"He hasn't been staying in one place. Apparently he's been moving from one of his properties to the next, usually in the early hours of the morning when you're off the streets and Dent is counting the money he just stole from him. It's kinda ingenious, really."

Gordon then coughed, taking a moment to clear his throat while he was at it. "This information is coming to us by Michael Doubleday. His rap sheet isn't much to speak of: couple counts of fraud, perjury, and so on. Not all that dangerous a guy except that he usually ends up as the right-hand man of dangerous people."

"Doubleday is one of Thorne's men," Batman surmised.

"Used to be." Gordon took another sip of coffee. "As it turns out, Harvey Dent muscled Thorne out of his organization and gave his men a choice: join him or die. The ones that joined him have been wreaking havoc all over the city since; the ones that didn't have been the ones Dent has been targeting this entire time."

Batman's eyes narrowed. All this time he had thought Dent had been trying to squash Thorne's crime family. While part of that was true, it was pretty much him ending any dissent in his ranks—namely the men still loyal to Thorne.

"Doubleday was one of the people present at Thorne's dismissal and pledged support to Dent the first chance he got. Pretty much maintained his status as the second banana."

That was when a thought occurred to the Dark Knight. When Dent had been District Attorney, he had been relentless in his pursuit of Thorne. It was damn near an obsession. Yet, with his more vicious side active, it seemed strange he would let a man that had been giving him so many problems walk away. It didn't add up at all.

"Why didn't Dent shoot Thorne then and there?" he questioned. "It seems strange he would let him walk."

Gordon nodded. "I thought the same thing. That was when Doubleday brought up his coin."

"Coin?"

"Yeah. Apparently Dent doesn't make a decision without flipping a bloody quarter. He's actually stopped his gang from killing people because the coin landed on its good side."

A flood of thoughts filled Batman's head. The strange pattern to Dent's crimes, the seemingly randomness of death and mercy he had granted at each had been beyond confusion. Now though, he could practically see Dent standing at the crime scene, his men holding everyone hostage as he flipped a damn coin. It wasn't known if heads or tails was good, but regardless, one side allowed someone to live, the other granted only death.

It wouldn't have surprised him if Dent even flipped to see if he was going to attack Thorne's operations each day.

"Despite the way the coin landed, apparently Dent wasn't happy with the result," Gordon continued, drawing Batman out of his musings. "The moment Thorne went into hiding, he's been trying to find the guy. Doubleday, ironically enough, became a double agent, serving both Dent and Thorne. It's how Doubleday knows where Thorne will be and how Thorne always stays one step ahead of Dent."

It was then Batman felt Gordon was getting at something else. If this contact was about apprehending Thorne, the commissioner would have already given him the address.

Again, the older man took a sip of his coffee, grimacing at it before he tossed the rest of it onto the roof. "Considering how badly Dent wants Thorne, I thought this might be an opportunity for us to draw him out."

Immediately, the dark-clad man knew what the police commissioner was getting at. "You want to use Thorne as bait."

He nodded. "I've been putting out word to various media sources to report on our movements. Dent's gonna go after the police convoy while we transfer him from the precinct to Blackgate. God willing, we take the fight right to him and his goons and arrest the lot of 'em."

"Where do you need me?" Batman asked then.

"Where you always are: looking over our shoulders. I'll feel a lot better with you making sure everything goes our way." Gordon sighed. "If everything goes right, we can finally end all of this madness."

There was a moment of silence between them before Batman inquired, "Doubleday, are you sure you can trust him? What makes you think he's telling you the truth?"

"I interrogated the guy myself," Gordon replied. "And I gotta say I believe him. He's afraid of what Dent's capable of and wants no part of it. The only way out for him is to strike a deal with us and get immunity. I'm willing enough to do that if it means we get an airtight case on Dent."

If it were anyone else, Batman would've insisted on conducting his own interrogation. Gordon, on the other hand, was a seasoned cop and his instincts were usually spot-on. No way was he going to show a lack of faith. However, he did want to confirm Gordon's feelings.

"Do you mind if I have a copy of the interrogation tapes?"

If Gordon was offended by the request, he didn't show it. "By all means. I'll leave a copy on my desk; I'm sure you'll know how get it. In the meantime, we have a raid moving into position as we speak. I'm about to head out myself—"

Whatever Gordon said after that, Batman didn't know. By then he had left the roof, swinging away on his grapple cord. Tonight was going to be hot; Thorne wasn't going to roll over without putting up a fight and it could get messy. He needed to get to Thorne's location by the time the SWAT team was pulling in.

* * *

The lights on their vehicles were deliberately kept off as law enforcement approached the address. The neighborhood they were in was in a section of the city that wasn't lower income but it wasn't anywhere near the wealthier areas. The homes held more length than width and were positioned next to each other in a long continuous row of brick and mortar.

The homeowners had parked their cars along the wide street, forcing the cops to take up the middle of the road. SWAT was creeping down the sidewalk, their postures slouched as they did their best to make themselves small and unnoticeable. The black color of their gear helped them to blend into the night.

They reached the home in question, the windows dark from the lack of lights inside, the occupant most likely asleep. Looks could be deceiving; no one knew what firepower was in there, if there were guards keeping a lookout, or it their intel was still accurate.

The moment of truth was approaching as SWAT reached the front door, the team keeping to one side of the short set of stairs that lead up to it while one member with a ram positioned himself opposite to them. Pulling the ram back, he rushed the metal instrument forwards with all his strength forcing the door open as the lock keeping it closed was destroyed.

As wood fragments fell to the floor, SWAT rushed in one at a time, their automatic weapons held up and ready to be fired at a second's notice. With quick movements, each scanned the small front entrance followed by either advancing into the living room or up the set of stairs located five feet directly ahead.

So far they had yet to encounter resistance, but that could change in an instant. As the group on the ground floor headed back towards the kitchen, the other group was reaching the second floor, testing doorknobs to determine if they were locked or not. So far they had encountered two empty bedrooms and a bathroom, so far nothing.

At the end of the small hallway, they reached what could only be the master bedroom. The SWAT team member with the ram made his presence known and took the lead. Using the ram once more, the door was broken open and the armed law officers rushed in.

In a large bed, a large man in his underwear was peering at them with sleep-filled eyes. His white hair was mussed from being pressed against the pillows, and while he held one of his hands up to block the sight of the lights attached to the SWAT officer's guns, his other hand was tucked under a pillow.

"HANDS IN THE AIR! I WANT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" was roared at him, one automatic weapon shoved into the man's face, several others aimed in backup.

The man in the bed froze before slowly raising his visible hand, followed shortly by his other hand. No gun was in it, proving that he was not a threat. It didn't stop a SWAT member from roughly grabbing the man and dragging him out from under his covers, shoving him down unto the floor and pulling the man's hands behind his back.

Moments later, a disheveled Rupert Thorne was led out of the building, not even given the decency of a bathrobe to cover himself in. Waiting for him was the leader of this arrest, Sarah Gordon, the woman flanked by Harvey Bullock and Maggie Sawyer.

Stowing her own gun away, Sarah approached the captured crime boss, doing her best not to betray her satisfaction at the sight. "Rupert Thorne," she pronounced, "you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I want my lawyer," Thorne growled, glaring at him. Then, he added, "And a change of clothes. I prefer to do this comfortably."

"Oh, we have a change of clothes ready for you at the station," Sarah replied, looking over Thorne's shoulder to the SWAT personal. "Take him downtown and lock him up. Make sure he gets all the comfort he deserves."

As the crime lord was led away, not gently at all, Sarah turned towards her two flanks. "We're done here. We're going to have him processed and booked. Then we get ready for tomorrow night."

Bullock gave a small chuckle. "Remind me what time of year this is, 'cause it feels like Christmas to me."

Sarah gave a wry smirk, "Save that for tomorrow. We only have Thorne. All goes to plan, we'll have both him and Dent."

"This sounds really risky," Sawyer commented. "Why not move him to Blackgate now?"

"This is Gotham; Dent probably has a mole or two in the department, keeping an eye on us," the female lieutenant replied. "We can't tip our hand too early. It's a little like a balancing act. Let's not forget, Dent is smart; he'd see through anything else. We need to play dumb until we're on the road."

"Personally, I like it this way," Bullock stated. "We're in control now. We know he's coming to us. No more chasing his ass, he'll be chasing us and we'll be ready for him."

Sarah nodded in agreement. "I want everyone to get go home as soon as they can, let the nightshift and whatever reinforcements the commissioner called in to watch over Thorne. We need to be at our best tomorrow."

Anything less would be unacceptable.

* * *

The quiet of the night was broken as the door was loudly broken, SWAT officers rushing into the little house. The street was covered with vehicles, be it pedestrian or police. Beams of light flashed over and over through the building's windows, indicating where the police presence was.

Stationed on the roof of the house across the street, Batman watched as it all unfolded. Batgirl was crouched towards the crest of the roof, peeking over it with only her head visible.

Batman and Huntress took no such precaution. Batman stood on the downward slope of the roof, his hulking frame visible to anyone that looked. Huntress had placed herself next to a window extension, one hand pressed on the miniature roof to balance herself.

"Not that I don't mind watching the boys in blue in action," the dark-haired woman began, her eyes focused on the house across the street, "but why aren't we in there? Why are we over here peeping like voyeurs?"

Batman didn't immediately answer. He found it strange too not to be in the middle of the action. Usually it was the GCPD cleaning up after he had neutralized any and all threats present. To be the observer rather than the participant was a new experience.

"We're just the back-up," he finally answered Huntress. "Call it professional courtesy if you'd like; we were asked to be here to make sure nothing goes wrong with this operation."

"Uh huh. So, why aren't we just leaving Thorne as a welcome package for the cops?"

Batman tilted his head away from the scene to look at the purple-clad vigilante. "We aren't the only ones who have been taking hits lately. The GCPD are in a great need for morale. They need to make this arrest more than we do right now. They need to feel they can still influence this city and not be bystanders."

"In other words, they need to feel like they're not riding on your coattails." Huntress sent a smirk his way with those words.

The Dark Knight merely grunted as he returned to look at the house. The frantic energy that had surrounded the house had died down as several police officers stationed themselves outside of the front door and on the sidewalk. A couple SWAT officers exited the building, followed by Rupert Thorne in sleepwear, his arms held firmly behind his back, and a scowl on his face.

Huntress' face hardened. "So he really was here."

SWAT led Thorne from the house, reaching the street where three police officers were waiting. Even from this distance, Batman could make out Sarah Gordon and Harvey Bullock. The third one looked new to him. It was a woman, blonde, and she carried herself confidently. He was going to have to check her out sooner rather than later; if she was entering Sarah Gordon's inner circle, then she was going to have access to Jim Gordon eventually.

"Rupert Thorne," he heard Lt Gordon say, "you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I want my lawyer," Thorne interrupted her. "And a change of clothes. I prefer to do this comfortably."

"I'm sure they can offer him something in orange," Huntress muttered. "I think a jumpsuit would fit him nicely."

To Gordon's credit, she wasn't taken back by the less than warm greeting. "Oh, we have a change of clothes ready for you at the station," she replied coolly. "Take him downtown and lock him up. Make sure he gets all the comfort he deserves."

Thorne was then roughly taken away, forced into the backseat of a nearby police cruiser. Gordon, Bullock, and their companion stayed where they were, going into a conference with one another. Seeing that everything was under control, Batman turned away and climbed up the roof, moving to the other side to head down its other slope. Huntress and Batgirl followed him, neither one sparing a glance behind them.

"Well, that was fun," Huntress said, boredom evident in her tone. "So now what?"

"Now we prepare for tomorrow night."

That got the dark-haired woman's attention. "Tomorrow? What's going on?"

"With Thorne in custody, not to mention the soon-to-be published story on tonight's arrest, Dent is going to crawl out of whatever hole he's hiding in," Batman explained, reaching the edge of the roof. Dropping off of it, he grabbed the edges of his cape, using it as a parachute to slow his descent to the ground. "We need to be ready for whatever he throws at the GCPD. Dent hates Thorne and he's going to want to make sure Throne is no longer a threat."

There was a silent moment before, "Why didn't Dent kill Thorne before? He pretty much took over Thorne's operation at gunpoint; why not shoot him then."

"Because Dent lost the coin toss."

One set of footsteps stopped behind the Dark Knight, indicating that Huntress had stopped walking. "You've got to be kidding me," she groaned loudly.

Batman came to a stop as well, looking over his shoulder to the other vigilante. "You should take the rest of the night off. Batgirl and I will do the same. All three of us need to be in top form."

The corner of Huntress' mouth twitched up. "Say it ain't so, the Batman actually takes a night off."

 _Hmph._ Despite the perception that he patrolled Gotham every single night, there had been times he had taken a night off. Not recently, mind you, but it had happened.

Tomorrow night would not be one of those nights.

* * *

The digital traffic was rush hour level that morning, making Barbara Gordon very curious and determined to know what the hell was going on. It didn't take long; the arrest of Thorne was huge news. The first mob boss arrested in Gotham's recorded history definitely warranted all the attention it was getting.

At first she was shocked by it. The more she learned, that feeling of shock became pride when she learned Sarah's name was involved in the arrest. A press conference hastily set up where her father was practically in control of the room sweetened the moment even more.

She couldn't be happier for her father. After all these years, all the progress and setbacks, the trials and the tribulations, he had achieved his dream of putting one of those goddamned son of a bitches behind bars. This was great, a momentous occasion. It was one more than worth its weight to find itself in the scrap book, not the one she had once made about a certain bat themed vigilante but the man she was proud to call "Daddy."

It was something new she had started, and she had to go back to ancient archives, i.e. areas of the internet people barely clicked on anymore, to get all the articles that summed up the big events that had happened during her father's tenure as commissioner. It had begun once she had donned the digital face of Oracle, and she had plans for this scrapbook.

It was going to be Daddy's retirement present, if you must know.

Of course, as her joy moved on to the afterglow stage, she started to pick up on...something. She couldn't say what it was, but it was niggling at her. It set this whole thing off, and she couldn't let this spoil the occasion. She couldn't. But she was going to.

So she began delving into all the rumblings, trying to find out what it was. There was so much, it consumed so much of her time. Hours were ticking by, but she was no closer to figuring this thing out.

She was watching the press conference for a fourth time when it finally hit her. Her father, a man who disliked being in the limelight was commanding a roomful of reporters. Reporters. People he detested only after organized crime, dirty cops, crooked politicians, and her mother's divorce attorney.

Commissioner Gordon had had a bad relationship with reporters, especially after one almost destroyed his career. He had little patience for them, only gave the briefest and concise of answers and only when he had no other choice. Yet here he was readily answering and seeming to have a good time with a group of people he commonly called vultures.

Now this whole thing was stinking to high heaven.

Soon enough, she found more oddities, like the speedy publication from the Gotham Gazette that pretty much broke the news on Thorne's arrest. At the time of night the arrest happened, most newspapers had finalized their morning editions. Under these circumstances, morning editions would be delayed to incorporate the breaking news. Yet the Gazette was on time.

An on time newspaper edition and her father friendly with journalists. Coincidence? Not for the daughter of Gotham City's commissioner. Coincidence didn't exist.

It took a while, but as she pondered about it, she noticed how every news outlet was so focused on Thorne's arrest. It was so on point almost to the detriment of other stories. Even the stuff coming out of Kahndaq where the Justice League was being reported minute by minute was overshadowed by this one story.

If she didn't know any better, it was as if someone was trying to get someone else's attention.

Then it all came together. This arrest was being blown out of proportion on purpose. Barbara had a sneaky suspicion that her father was somehow involved. So some digging was required, and perhaps a little snooping into the GCPD data center was called for.

About an hour later, she was sure she had it figured out. The police were trying to draw Two-face out. Thorne, for all the publicity he was garnering, was bait, live bait. Irresistible bait for a man who had seized control of his criminal empire but for some reason left him alive.

Dad, you were cunning, more than anybody gave you credit.

But this was going to be a dangerous gamble. Especially considering all the players involved. There was no way to predict how this was going to play, but what was for certain was that people were going to be killed. During the press conference, her father had slipped loose a piece of information that pretty much declared that Thorne was going to be moved to Blackgate for his safety.

The streets were going to be bathed in blood.

Now she had a dilemma. Should she let the rest of the Batclan know about this and potentially put them into certain harm's way? Or would their presence save a few lives?

This was a tough decision, but nonetheless she would bring this to the other's attention. Dick and Tim would make their choices and she would have to live with them.

But she was not going to let them be out there by themselves. Somehow she would make sure their backs were watched.

They would not suffer her fate, no matter what decision they made.

* * *

Word spread quickly through the city as the arrest of the presumed dead Rupert Thorne made the rounds. The media was eating it up, trying to get their hands on every little detail and play catch up to whoever broke the story.

Once one got over the surprise that yes, Rupert Thorne was alive and kicking, next set in what happens now.

Black Mask was one of those caught off guard by this revelation. Even he had believed that the man had been Jimmy Hoffa'd months ago. Once he was able to get over his surprise, he immediately began thinking about how this would affect him.

The answer was very little. Thorne becoming the talk of the town meant absolutely nothing to him. It did nothing to interfere with his plans. The worst it did was make his flunkies gossip in hushed voices, which was a little annoying. Otherwise, it impacted him little if at all.

However, he had heard about the animosity between Two-face and Thorne. He'd even heard a story about how the captured mob boss had once tried to find dirt on the former district attorney. It had been kept on the down low, only a small number of people knew it that had been true or not, but Black Mask, for once, was tempted to believe the rumors.

Perhaps it had played a part in Dent's fall from grace, who knew? All that mattered was that the two hated each other. Since Dent had taken over Thorne's outfit, you'd expect that disfigured man would have killed his competition for power and be done with it.

But surprise, surprise, he hadn't. For whatever reason, he hadn't and now this was in Black Mask's lap.

So how would he use it?

"You don't seem bothered about the news," the skull masked man commented, shooting a look over at Mr. Jones.

"Why should I?" Mr. Jones grunted in reply. "Means absolutely nothing. Not like he's gonna bust out or anything."

"We can't have that happening," Black Mask nodded his head as he spoke. Now that he thought about it, when it came to collecting and maintaining power, Thorne could prove to be a rival. So long as he was alive, he could call on the men still loyal to him to shake things up. So maybe he was a problem to deal with in the future. Perhaps more thought was needed for this.

"This changes nothing," he announced. "Everything is still going to plan, even though Milo got himself caught. At least he was about to get me the last component. All that needs to be done is finishing it and then we can really get down to business. It's all a distraction. The cops will be using it to convince people, 'hey, we're doing our jobs,' and make them feel safer. Then we come in, tear that apart… Maybe this isn't so bad either. What better way to really take this city than to strip it of its hope first?"

"Sounds like you might be gettin' distracted," Mr. Jones grumbled.

"You might be right," Black Mask acknowledge. "Really, the only person who should be getting distracted here is Two-face. The thorn in his side, no pun intended, has just been found. And since he took Thorne's group over, it makes sense to put the fatso out of his misery."

That was actually a good point, a very good point. For whatever insane reason he had, Dent had let Thorne go. Now would be a perfect opportunity for him to fix a very big mistake. Since the cops were going to make sure Thorne was guarded every second of every day, Two-face would have to make a big show of force to even get near his nemesis.

If the guy couldn't resist temptation, it would provide Black Mask an opportunity to put down the two-faced upstart and really solidify his grasp on power.

"I think this is the perfect distraction for us," he said aloud, catching Mr. Jones' attention.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's going to distract Two-face enough that he won't be looking for someone else coming for his head," the masked man chuckled. "Now how could we do that?"


	18. The Trek to Blackgate

The Trek to Blackgate

It had been real busy at the department. No one was under the illusion that tonight was going to be anything short of a war situation. The whole day until dusk had been tense as officers from patrolmen to ranked officers, and even SWAT, were down to counting the minutes until go time.

The clock was the most popular sight, as eyes repeatedly looked up at it, literally watching the seconds and minutes pass by. Then man and woman alike would get back to work because those precious minutes and seconds could not be wasted.

Orders had come from the top for alterations to be made on the vehicles they would be using. Due to time constraints, it wouldn't be anything major. Primarily, hatches were being made into the roofs of the SWAT vans and murderholes were placed into the sides of all vehicles. Windows were upgraded to the bulletproof variety. The big guns were being pulled out of the armory and freshened up.

The GCPD was about to go to war.

As the sun began to set, the convoy of law enforcement vehicles were purring in the underground parking area. This was where any and all prisoner transfers began, one of the safer places in Gotham outside of infiltrators trying to pull Jack Rubys. It was here that Rupert Thorne was led in cuffs and chains to the small van that would be his transport. Heavily armored with steel walls nearly ten inches in thickness, it was perhaps going to be the safest place to be tonight.

Thorne practically waddled his way past all the armed officers, head held up high and showing no weakness in the face of his circumstances. If one paid attention, you'd swear he was almost sneering at the men and women who wore the badge, sworn to protect this city from any and all threats.

None of these same men and women and a high opinion of him either.

They also ignored some parting words from Thorne as he stepped into the vehicle, "Have fun out here, boys and girls."

Once the door was shut firmly behind the mob boss, the commissioner made his appearance, decked out in a bulletproof vest and armed to the teeth. He was flanked by the leader of the Two-face task force, Lieutenant Sarah Gordon, his unofficial right hand man, Harvey Bullock, and detective superstar Renee Montoya. Apparently this convoy was going to be bringing some all-stars with them.

The commissioner looked over the large assembly, scanning them all for any signs of weakness. The officers of law enforcement responded by facing him and not showing any of the anxieties that had been building within for the last nearly twenty-four hours.

"Everybody ready?" the commissioner called out, pausing for a moment for some nods, a few "hell yeahs" and anything in between. "I'm not going to lie to you. What we're about to do is highly dangerous. We're about to take one of the most dangerous men in Gotham and we're going to transport him all the way to Blackgate, supposedly where he'll be safer. To do that, we are going to have to drive from one side of the city to the other, three miles tops.

"This is going to be the longest three miles any of us will ever face. The most dangerous man in Gotham is going to be gunning for us, for our tubby little package over there." Gordon nodded his head over to the transport van for his last comment. "It's our job to push past and get to Blackgate, hopefully all in one piece and not a single officer down. To make sure this happens as smoothly as possible, I'll be joining you. I figure, we'll need all the guns we can get.

"Tonight is the night we begin taking back our city. This is step one and let me say, I couldn't find myself in better company. Lock and load, I am authorizing lethal force as of this moment. Keep yourselves alive, keep yourselves safe. Let's do this."

The GCPD cops dispersed, heading towards their assigned vehicles. Patrol cars, suburban vans, SWAT vans, all took their seats, a raucous of doors slamming filling the garage.

As they approached their car, Sarah spoke up, "You really don't need to do this Jim. Stay here, we'll handle this."

"Sorry, but this is too big for me to sit out on," Gordon replied as he opened the passenger side door. He paused as he noted a blond woman in the driver's seat who was not his wife.

Noting the pause, Sarah gave an introduction, "This is Maggie Sawyer, a member of the task force. She'll be driving."

"I once kept up with Superman during a high speed chase," Sawyer stated in a no-nonsense tone. "It was for five seconds, and when an out-of-control military weapon is blowing up half of downtown, that's no mean feat."

"Good enough for me," the commissioner replied as he got in. "I hope you kept those skills sharpened. We'll need them."

"I don't let anything dull," Sawyer replied back as she started the engine.

The first van began to pull out.

* * *

The first truck pulled out of the precinct, quickly followed by another and another. The first truck made a right and headed down the street, a long caravan of SWAT vehicles, an armored truck, and squad cars forming a line behind it.

Perched on the ledge of the building across the street was Huntress, her cape flapping in the soft breeze. She watched as each vehicle turned right, though she found herself focusing right on the armored truck. Without a doubt, Thorne was in that one.

"Batman, they're on the move," she spoke into her comm link, her eyes never budging away from the caravan. "They're heading west on Sycamore. There's gotta be, like, twenty cars and trucks."

" _Be on the lookout for Dent,"_ the Dark Knight replied. _"Assume he knows what we know."_

Huntress rolled her eyes. That went without saying, though she wasn't going to bother saying that to the Bat. The defensive strategy they had been using up until now had not been working, so this trap of Gordon's was a breath of fresh air. That said, she was a professional and she wasn't going to assume everything would go according to plan.

In Gotham, _nothing_ goes according to plan.

"On my way to the next point," Huntress said instead. Standing up, she took off running across the roof, grapple in hand. It was a good thing they knew the route the GCPD was using, otherwise having to chase the cars traveling easily at 30 to 40 miles per hour on foot would be a pain.

* * *

It was the calm before the storm, everyone knew it. In their seats, law enforcement officers shifted uncomfortably, eyes searching for any and all disturbances. Quiet so far, but that could and would change at any moment.

The convoy made its first left and turned onto what was once Main Street, now Reagan Boulevard, a multi-laned road complete with an underdeck to allow for faster commutes. It was the busiest road in the entire city and the whole thing from the northern part of the city to the southern was blocked off. A host of traffic problems were a result from the last minute preparations and notice given, so naturally there were a lot of pissed off civilians stuck on the smaller streets.

If only that was the worst the convoy had to face.

Because no traffic was allowed to cross this road, the lights could be and were ignored as a decent speed was placed. For those who could see it, it was surreal to see this road so empty.

They were passing one of the checkpoints, several officers noting patrolmen blocking intersecting streets with their cars, using hand motions to inform them to keep moving. While not too obvious, these fellow officers were also armed to the teeth, able to lend assistance if need be. A friendly reminder that they were not alone on this night.

Then a bus crashed through one of the vehicular-formed blockades. It towered over them, painted gaudily in black and white. The front of it was obviously reinforced, making it an over-sized battering ram. Behind it, five more of these freakishly tall buses pulled onto Reagan, placing themselves to the right of the convoy and keeping pace.

Ignoring the paint jobs, just by looking at the physical features of these buses, it was easy to tell they weren't the standard city buses. No, these were double-deckers, transplants from another country. As another sign of their foreign origin, the first bus was striking and knocking off the traffic lights, barely clearing the poles they were attached to.

A few heartbeats passed, some officers readying their guns, others paralyzed with shock, and some stupefied by the sight of the buses.

"What is this, Englishland?" Bullock muttered, one of the few who were stupefied.

The windows on the side of the buses shattered as machine gun fire erupted from within, the bullets targeting and hitting the sides of the police vehicles. The Two Ton Gang was attempting to live up to its name by firing two tons of ammunition at the cops without stop. Bullets struck the thankfully bulletproof glass that had been installed in all the vehicles, but it was still a wake-up call as the clear shielding was whitened by the small projectiles.

"This is car 8, we're under attack, I repeat, the convoy is under attack!" Gordon reported into the radio, following procedure. "All units, return fire! Return fire immediately! Dispatch, get some backup here!"

Inside one of the SWAT vans, a SWAT muttered, "About time," as he stood up and popped opened the recently installed roof hatch. Readying his gun, he pulled himself up, letting a fellow SWAT team member grab hold of his legs and hold him up. He began firing at the nearest bus, aiming for the shattered windows. He bent his knees as much as he could to make himself a smaller target as return fire was shot at him. Other SWAT vans were doing the same, popping tops and one man sticking out to shoot back.

This strategy was ended prematurely, as Two Ton members appeared from the top of the double-deckers, firing down on the SWAT vans and on the extremely vulnerable cops. A few were able to pull back in, closing the hatches behind them due to bullets getting through. Others weren't as lucky as the gunfire struck some in their lower faces, areas not covered by their equipment.

"The holes!" a team member shouted as a hatch was closed. Several nods were made and the tops covering the murderholes were popped out. Sticking the barrels of the guns through, they began returning fire at the buses, this time in a more secure environment. Thanks to the modifications made on the SWAT vans, instead of having a steel wall between them and the outside world, and no visibility, they instead now had thick, bulletproof glass, one-way of course. They could see their targets, though the murderholes limited their range.

It was better than the alternative, though.

The patrol cars were not completely helpless either. Murderholes had also been installed in them. Bullock was taking advantage of his, choosing his pistol over the shotgun as the room available in the car made the latter too awkward to use.

"Come on, you sons of bitches! I got your number right here!" the lieutenant yelled at their attackers.

"I don't think they can hear you," Montoya told him helpfully from her place in the driver's seat, doing her best to keep them going straight.

"Do I tell you how to drive? Don't tell me what to yell," Bullock shot back. He growled as the bullets hitting window were slowly obscuring his vision. "Goddamn assholes."

"Maybe they heard you," Montoya teased.

"We'll see about that." Reaching a hand down, Bullock lowered the back of his seat so that he was almost lying down on his back. Opening the murderhole in the back seat, he stuck the barrel of his shotgun through, this position enabling him more room to use it. Firing, he was able to see one of the attacking men go down.

Meanwhile, at the front of the convoy, gunfire was intense on the first vehicle. The car was starting to swerve, but the driver was managing to keep them going straight. From the top of the bus, the men ducked under the passing traffic poles, and when they weren't doing that, they were firing down at the car. Thanks to their position, they had a better view of the car's tires. With the vehicle's roof lights already shot up to hell, they focused more of their gunfire on the street, eventually managing to shoot out the front tire.

The police car's swerving became more extreme as the driver struggled to gain control. His swerving became too severe that it brought the car in front of the first bus, the bus driver accelerating enough to broadside it. Force and momentum shoved the car out of the double-decker's way, bringing it to a crash against a building.

Further down the convoy, Gordon saw the remains of their first casualty. They were starting to be picked off. Damn it.

"Get closer to the buses, don't let them shoot out the tires," he ordered as they passed the first wreck.

"We can't shoot at them if we get too close," Sarah warned him.

Didn't he know that. If they got too close, they wouldn't be able to defend themselves properly. If they got too far away, they risked being taken out by the overhead gunmen via their tires.

"Dispatch, we need that backup!" he roared into radio.

" _Backup is on the way,_ " an unfamiliar voice answered, though the commissioner didn't pay it too much mind.

* * *

Dent had made his move.

The double-decker buses were a dead giveaway. With Dent's obsession with twos, it made the perfect attack vehicle for his dichotomous mind. It also gave his men the high ground to attack Gordon's men. While the GCPD had been expecting an attack, the two sides were at a standstill with neither one able to get the upperhand.

It was time to change that.

Pressing down on the accelerator, Batman's infamous car raced down the street towards the oncoming convoy. The roar of the engine was nearly deafening despite the sound dampeners whose very purpose was to soften the sound. The GCPD forces were in one lane, Dent's buses in the next, the right of the cops, the left in Batman's view.

Keeping in the buses' lane, he charged right at the first one, closing the distance between them rapidly. Edging closer to the dashed lane line, Batman held that part of the road as the grill of the bus filled the windshield. The bus' driver either was too focused on the cops next to him, or thought he could win at chicken with the Dark Knight.

The titanium front of the car rammed right into the front of the bus, the brunt of the collision hitting at the driver's side tire. The sound of the two bashing vehicle exploded out into the night, even as the bus' damaged bumper and axle drug itself up onto the hood and windshield of Batman's car.

The bus began to tilt to its right, one side up on the black car, the other on the street. It couldn't maintain its precarious equilibrium and fell over onto its side, crashing onto the pavement and partially on the sidewalk. Sparks shot out as metal scraped across cement and asphalt, the bus sliding down the street until it came to a stop.

* * *

"Alright!" an officer shouted, pumping his fist inside the squad car. "The cavalry's arrived boys!"

* * *

That was one double-decker down. The second one was baring down on him now. However, the driver of this bus clearly had no intention of doing what his predecessor did. Even from their ever-closing distance, Batman could see the driver's fear-stricken face, his hands gripping onto the driver's wheel.

The man then turned the wheel, trying to force his way into the police convoy's lane. In response, Batman edged to his left, the bus' right. Thankfully the bus chose at that point to hold its position, barely straddling the centerline on the street. The bus hadn't left it lanes, but it wasn't really in the police's either.

And then the front of the bus passed next to Batman's car. That was okay. The rapidly pinging sounds on the roof his car told him the men on the second level were shooting down on him. Though he rather not have dents in his car, this was fine for now; the vehicle was bulletproof and wouldn't let a single bullet through.

However, as he approached the end of the bus, Batman jerked on the wheel, causing the front of his car to ram right into the back of the bus, right behind its rear tire. The force of the collision caused rubber to squeal across asphalt, leaving back streaks in their wake.

The front of the bus turned to its right as the back began to fishtail. The driver couldn't get the bus under control until for a brief moment it was literally sideways on the road.

And then it tipped over. Over and over, the double-decker bus flipped, coming to a top on its side, closed to where the first bus had stopped.

In the meantime, Batman had his own worries. Because of his abrupt turn, he had shot right into the lane of the police caravan. Pressing down hard on the accelerator, he shot between a squad car and a SWAT truck, entering the lane on the other side. He passed by the SWAT truck, and then two more squad cars before he turned the wheel, darting between two more vehicles to return to the bus lane.

Unfortunately, his timing was off. The third bus took immediate action once he returned to the lane. It veered around the black car, mounting the sidewalk as it pulverized a couple of parking meters in its wake. A glance into the rearview mirror showed the bus pulling back onto the road a couple buildings down. Damn.

Batman didn't let that upset him for too long. The fourth attacking bus was nearly on him. Unlike the first two buses, the fourth one was maybe three car lengths behind the third. There was no time for it to take evasive maneuvers.

Batman hit it head on, dead center of the grill. The front of the bus jerked upwards and Batman was given a front row seat to the belly of the large vehicle. The sound of metal screeching as it was rubbed against metal filled the air. The entire length of the double-decker ran over the vigilante's car, the front of the bus hitting the pavement once it reached the back hard.

Again, Batman looked to the rearview mirror. He watched as the bus bounced from its awkward landing, weaving left to right and back and causing a couple of police cruisers to pull away to avoid getting hit. Much to his chagrin, the driver got control of the double-decker bus soon after and continued on as if nothing had happened.

The Dark Knight activated his comm link. "Huntress, the third and fourth buses got by me," he reported urgently. "You and Batgirl get to work."

" _You're starting to slip in your old age, Bats,"_ the purple-clad woman responded, some humor in her voice.

Batman scowled. "Huntress," he said warningly.

" _Don't worry, we've got this."_

This time he didn't bother replying. For the time being, he had two more buses to deal with.

* * *

The grapple fired loudly, the cable going taut moments later. Without hesitation, Huntress swung out into open air, descending down to the chaotic street below.

By her count, the Batmobile was batting two out of three. It had trashed the first two double-decker buses, and the fourth one had miraculously stayed on all four wheels. She wasn't including the third one since he had dodged any damage, and thus shouldn't be counted.

It was to this bus that she swung to. It was a good thing they had known the police route to Blackgate, otherwise there was no way she would've ahead of it like she had. Seeing the convoy and its attackers approaching down the street, she had impatiently waited for the order to move.

Of course, she didn't grapple her way right at the approaching bus. Instead she had fired the line further up the street. Her descent and the bus' speed would meet at some point and it would be here she attempted to board.

Eyes down, she saw quite a few of Two-Face's men on the upper deck, all of them looking down at the police caravan. None of them had taken the time to look up, or even notice her shadow growing larger.

It was because of this, along with her legs extended out in front of her and pressed together, that she plowed into one goon feet first. The force of her blow knocked the man into his friend next to him, sending both crashing onto the floor of the bus. Letting go of her grapple, Huntress landed in the aisle further up from the small pile of thugs. As it so happened, there was another thug right in front of her, who was turning to face her, a look of surprise on his face.

Lunging forward, Huntress rammed her elbow into his face, knocking him down with a cry of surprise and pain. Even as he fell, she grabbed onto his machine gun and pulled it out of his grasp, disarming him mid-fall. Dropping to her knees, the purple-clad woman held the machine gun with both hands, swinging it down and slamming the butt of the weapon against the man's face. She hit him, once, twice, three times and then stopped, certain he was no longer a threat.

Twin cries rang out behind her, causing the dark-haired woman to jerk her head around. Towards the back of the bus, Batgirl had dropped in. She held herself up in the air with one hand on the back of one of the seats, a leg extended out and planting itself in the side of a gunman's face. Without breaking a sweat, she twisted her body in midair, still propping herself up with the one arm, and used her other leg to deliver a savage kick to the face of another thug.

 _Show-off._

There was one more guy up here, and Huntress had no doubt Batgirl would have any trouble dispatching him. Dropping the gun, she then hurried to the small staircase the led to the lower level. Grabbing onto the railing, she held herself up and let gravity push her down, sliding down the curving staircase rail. Heat from the friction of metal against her gloved hands burned at her, but she ignored it.

Reaching the bottom, she found the driver seat right in front of her, a few more gunmen scattered throughout the bus. In an instant, she had two H-shaped shuriken and sent them flying with a swing of her arm. Batman would've been proud as her projectiles nailed two separate men in their foreheads, knocking them out cold before they dropped to the floor.

Unfortunately, this alerted the rest of the men to her presence. "Holy crap, it's a cape!" one of the men shouted as he turned around to point his gun at her.

Naturally, that's when Batgirl crashed the party. Glass shattered from one of the windows opposite where the gunmen were. The lithe girl flew in, crashing into two goons and knocking them down with screams of surprise. This caused the man pointing his weapon at Huntress to hesitate as he turned his head to look.

In a flash, Huntress sent another of her projectiles flying, knocking the gun out of the man's hand as he cried out in pain. That would buy Batgirl all the time she needed to take him out. Turning her attention other driver, she scowled at the man he returned her look with one of fear.

His head bashed against the window right after her fist connected with his face. Quickly, Huntress grabbed onto the wheel, holding it steady so that the bus didn't veer right into the police caravan. Grabbing the unconscious driver, she pulled him out of his seat, inadvertently turning the wheel and causing the bus to drift to the right. With the man's foot off the gas pedal, they were also starting to slow down too.

Immediately, Huntress dropped herself into the driver's seat, and began to turn the bus back to the left. There, at least they wouldn't crash now.

Suddenly, the bus jerked, startling the vigilante. Jerking her eyes to the side mirror, she saw the fourth bus forcing its way between her bus and the convoy. The side of each bus scraped against each other as the fourth bus plowed its way alongside them. It's front was even magnified by the side mirror as it attempted to pass her.

Now that was just rude.

Unfortunately, because that bus was pushing against hers, it was forcing her ride further right. To add to the misfortune, she was closing in on a parked car.

"Hang on, Batgirl!" Huntress shouted as she stepped on the accelerator.

The bus plowed into the car, shoving it forward and then to the right. Thank god the owner had left the wheels turned, otherwise the car never would've moved onto the sidewalk. Turning the wheel to the left, Huntress got the bus out of the parallel parking spots and back into the street, nearly jackknifing against the bus behind her.

"Can you do something about that?!" she yelled back to Batgirl.

From the view of the side mirror, batarangs struck the windshield of fourth bus causing the driver to jerk the bus away. That gave enough room for Huntress to speed ahead and retake her place in front it.

 _Alright, I think I have the hang of this now._ Punching down on the accelerator, Huntress continued to block the progress of the fourth bus. No damn way was she letting it get ahead of her.

* * *

As the attacking buses were picked off and neutralized one by one, less and less attention was being focused to the front of the convoy. Once Batman had entered the fray, the front had become safer. By now, only one vehicle remained in front of the van holding Thorne, and like all the other vehicles, they looked like hell.

Then a school bus emerged on the scene, slamming into the front-most car with enough force to knock it through the guardrails to their left and off the street to plummet down onto the underdeck below. Turning sharply and straightening up in front of the transport van, the bus' back hatch opened up, revealing the dichotomous Two-face himself.

Armed with a machine gun, he coolly began firing at the windshield of the van. The officer in the passenger side cried out in alarm as bullets bounced off the bulletproof glass in front of him. Though alarmed, all he could do was tighten his grip on his firearm. Since the school bus was directly in front of them, firing back would be a difficult task.

All he did do was yell at the driver to do something, just get them out of this mess.

The driver either refused or ignored him, staying the course as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

The machine gun fire came to an end as Two-face's clip ran out. While he lowered the emptied weapon, two of his men from behind him stuck their arms out from around the crime boss. The continued the gunfire while Two-face handed his gun back to replace it with one with a full clip. He resumed fire immediately.

From inside the transport van, Thorne hummed to himself, wondering irritably when all this racket was going to stop. It was giving him a headache.

* * *

" _He's here."_

Those were the only words Huntress said over the comm link, but Batman didn't have to think too hard as to who she meant. Dent was here, making a move on Thorne no doubt. It also meant there were potentially more of his men attacking too.

"What's his status?" the vigilante asked as he activated his end of the link.

Because of this, he was slow to react as the fifth double-decker bus drove right by him. Jerking his head to the left, he saw the bus pass right by. Damn, that was another he was going to have to deal with.

" _As far as I can tell, he's at Thorne's truck,"_ Huntress replied. _"Looks like he's on a school bus."_

That was different, but it would be dealt with swiftly. As Batman closed in on the last double-decker bus, he hit the accelerator to close in on it as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, he lost track of how long the police caravan was. Mere seconds before collision, the bus suddenly jerked into the police's lane, becoming the rear vehicle in the convoy. This resulted in Batman shooting right by and losing ground on everyone.

Damn it all.

Hitting the breaks, Batman turned the steering wheel as far as it could go. His car spun around, the back of the vehicle going into a fishtail right before he spun the wheel back, gunning the engine. With the sight of the police convoy and buses ahead, Batman took off after them.

Then, just as the double-decker bus crossed into an intersection, a cement truck came out of nowhere. There was no warning; one moment it wasn't there, the next it was. Because of his position, Batman watched as the cement truck plowed right into the side of the bus, right behind the front tire.

The collision sent the double-decker bus spinning around, drifting off to the right as pieces of it scattered across the intersection. Jerking on the wheel, Batman avoided the large vehicle, keeping an eye on it as it slammed right into the light pole for the traffic lights.

The cement truck, in turn, managed to turn itself to follow the police caravan. That was no mean feat considering it had plowed into a bus at a rather high speed. In fact, it looked as if it would fall onto its side as it tried the turn.

This was a strange turn of events. The vigilante found himself blinking owlishly at the sight. Then he felt something was off. It would be one thing if the cement truck had carried on across the street rather than join the police caravan. However, when he noticed arms beginning to stick out of the windows, machine guns held firmly in hand, he knew without a doubt something was up.

Hitting a button on the console, the front headlights of Batman's car raised out of their place and moved to a side, the barrels of the cannons extending out. Flicking the top ends of the steering wheels, Batman placed his thumbs on the red buttons that revealed themselves.

Matching his pace with the cement truck, the vigilante lined his car up in the same lane, the two vehicles swerving from the left side of the lane to the right slowly. Once he was sure he had the target in sight, Batman pressed the red buttons, the back of the cement truck exploding into a ball of fire.

The force of the blast lifted the now-damaged truck off the road, the back end completely up in the air with all of the truck's weight on its front tires. It even seemed to burst forward, closing in on the rear vehicle of the police caravan. The two vehicles collided, the hood of the cement truck crashing into the trunk of the police cruiser. Fortunately the squad car sped up the moment it was hit, the collision killing some of the cement truck's added momentum.

Changing lanes, Batman swept by the damaged truck, keeping an eye on it in his mirrors as it slowed to a complete stop, left behind by the convoy. Returning his attention back to the road in front of him, the vigilante narrowed his eyes as he realized there were more intruding trucks attacking the police caravan.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Was this Dent's second wave? He should've known there would be more than just the double-decker buses. It didn't matter, all of them had to be stopped.

Pressing down on the accelerator, the dark car began to speed up.


	19. Chase Crashers

Chase Crashers

A chaotic night was becoming even more chaotic. Everyone involved in law enforcement had been expecting an attack from their target. They were ready for the eventuality, even if they weren't for the methods employed. But they could adapt to at least give some resistance.

Now the wrench in the operation came. It had only begun with a cement truck taking out one of the double-decker buses. At first it was welcomed, if only in a serendipitous way. But when the cement truck was joined by two open-back eighteen wheelers, gunmen situated in the back ends and opening fire at everything. Crashing into two police vehicles and taking them out of the convoy was a bulldozer of all things, its treads replaces with several large wheels to allow it a faster speed.

No one was safe from these interlopers as they attacked anything and everything, most of their gunfire aimed at the double-decker buses. Two Ton Gang members in the lower story of the buses fell to the barrage of bullets, forcing those uninjured to duck down for safety. What wasn't aimed at the buses were directed towards law enforcement.

"What the hell?" Gordon swore at the unexpected turn of events. From what he could see, none of these newcomers dressed in the fashion Dent required of his men. Best he could tell, these people were in jumpsuits, though which kind he could not tell from his position. He caught sight of the masks they were wearing, skull-themed, when he jerked back from the window in surprise as several bullets struck the bulletproof glass. He had to remind himself for a second that the vehicle had been upgraded enough to resist more than some stray shots before leaning closer to try and puzzle this out.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Sawyer demanded as she sped up their car, the bulldozer attempting to run them off the road and possibly into the underdeck below.

"My guess would be crashers," Sarah groused from behind, looking through the rear window. "Step on it Sawyer," she warned as the bulldozer began to gain ground on them.

"I see them," Sawyer grunted, eyeing their pursuer through the rearview mirror. The moving piece of construction equipment was gaining on them, Sawyer continuing to stay the course until the last minute when she jerked the wheel to the right, moving them out of the convoy and in front of one of the remaining double-deckers.

Gordon reached up and grabbed the hanging handle above his head, eyes widening from behind his glasses. Sarah, meanwhile, was gripping both of the front seats, fingers clawing deeply into the fabric. Behind them, the bulldozer changed lanes in chase.

At the same time, the bus that had just been behind them was speeding up, and thanks to the bulldozer's maneuver, the construction vehicle was hit in the back. Sawyer took this opportunity to return to the left lane and try to put some distance between them and their pursuers.

Unfortunately, their speed was limited by the vehicle ahead of them. Yes, it was one of their own, and it was trying to defend itself from the carnage all around. However, that did not excuse the pace they were still setting; it was time to get a move on!

Sawyer honked the horn, and you could hear growling if you listened closely.

Meanwhile, further back in the convoy, Bullock and Montoya found themselves under heavy fire.

"Where'd these assholes come from? What gives?" Bullock complained as he winced at the loud sounds of bullets hitting the door beside him.

"We can ask questions later. Try to see if you can't take out their tires," Montoya said over her shoulder.

Good idea there. Without warning, he felt his shotgun jerking as it was pelted with bullets. Pulling it in, he scowled when he noticed that a lucky shot had caused the weapon's barrel to dent, causing a pinch. "Sons of bitches," he swore as he stuck his pistol into the murderhole and began firing at will. None of his shots were hitting anything, but damn did it feel good.

For their parts, the remaining members of the Two Ton Gang were scrambling to regroup and take back control. It would be more difficult, what with this now becoming a two front fight, but they were determined to make their boss proud.

Two-face had raised them up from some two-bit group of hired muscle to the top of organized crime. They had tasted success and power and they were damned if they had to lose it. They fired countless rounds at both the police and the newcomers, hitting windows that wouldn't break, and managing to take out the tires of one law enforcement vehicle. The car skidded into the guardrail and was almost forced over it by car behind that was refusing to stop.

One of the eighteen wheelers was giving chase after one of the buses, this one happening to be controlled by one of the city's vigilantes, completely unaware that it had been hijacked from its original owners. Huntress swore, ducking her head as bullets broken through the rear windows and hit anything in sight, mostly the seats though some had managed to pierce through the windshield.

"Need backup here!" she roared into her comm as she struggled to keep the bus on the road while avoiding potentially lethal shots.

Hearing this call from her seat, Oracle grimaced at the chaos but said mostly to herself, "Help is on the way."

* * *

As the double-decker bus swerved behind one of the eighteen-wheelers, two more party crashers joined the fray. Unlike the guys in skull masks, these two happened to be wearing domino masks.

Taking one Two Ton gang member down with his feet, the weight of his body forcing the man's down violently against the floor of the bus, Nightwing withdrew both of his escrima sticks, electricity crackling at both ends. Crouching low, he rushed towards the nearest gunman who only now began to realize his presence. Just as the man's machine gun aimed at him, the lithe vigilante knocked the barrel of the weapon aside, swinging his other escrima into the bad guy's gut.

The larger man gave a howl of agony, the electric charge really giving him a sting. Nightwing didn't let up on his assault, disarming the man with a second blow with his baton-esque stick, and then a merciful final blow to the head.

Up ahead, Robin had landed in between two gunman. Using his shorter height to his advantage, he ducked low and tripped the gang member he was facing. As the man was crashing back onto one of the bus' seats, the younger vigilante pulled out a throwing projectile and directed it at the gunman behind him. The projectile detonated as it struck the man's machine gun, rendering the gun useless and emitting a bright light that blinded the gunman.

As the larger man cried out, hands rushing up to his eyes, Robin returned his attention to the first gun man. The ugly guy was pushing himself back up, a no no in the masked teen's book. Planting his gloved hands against one of the seats, he swung a leg out and kicked it into the man's face.

Maybe he hadn't used enough force as the goon grabbed his ankle with his beefy hand. He was bringing his gun up for some close-range shooting, but Robin was already on the move. In tandem, he pushed himself up above the seats while his captured leg held him up so that he was perpendicular with the guy below him. Bending his knee, he let himself fall, folding his right arm so that his elbow jutted out.

Thanks to a combination of his position and height, he ended up piledriving his elbow into the goon's crouch. As the poor schmuck lifted his upper body up, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes bulging in their sockets, the teen vigilante tore his ankle from the loosened grip and took the opportunity to punch the guy's lights out.

Pushing himself off the unconscious man, he then dealt with his second gunman who had yet to recover. A punch to the gut forced the goon to bend forward, and a knee to the face ended his misery. That left one last guy who was figuring out that he was the last man standing.

Nightwing took advantage of his shock, hitting him in the back of the knees with his electric escrima. A second blow to the face ended whatever threat he could have put up.

"Quick and efficient, nice," Nightwing commented. "Let's take care of the bottom."

Robin quickly nodded and turned to lead the way to the bowels of the double-decker. As he was beginning to pull out a couple more projectiles—he refused to call them birdarangs if only because he was trying to coming up with a better name for them—the bus began to swerve more violently. Both vigilantes had to brace themselves against the seating so as not to fall onto either their faces or their asses.

The reason for the unexpected maneuver could be seen up ahead. One of the intruding eighteen-wheelers was busy trying to take out the bus ahead of them. Whoever was driving it was making an effort to stay on the road, and their struggle was causing them to move into the left lane, the convoy lane. Police vehicles were moving this way and that to try and avoid not getting crushed by the larger double-decker.

That meant law enforcement was unintentionally running into them.

"Can't people drive anymore," Nightwing swore.

As if someone up above was listening, the bus up ahead began to increase its speed, trying to gain some distance from its attacker. The eighteen-wheeler reciprocated, keeping up pace. The driver of their bus inexplicably sped up too.

Maybe it wasn't as inexplicable as the bulldozer behind them rammed them from behind.

"And now a backseat driver," the older vigilante complained.

"Which do we do first?" Robin inquired. Things were getting unnecessarily complicated here. Should they take out the guys below then worry about the asshole behind them? Or should they stop the rampaging bulldozer?

Looking back behind them, Nightwing remarked, "Looks like whoever's driving is going after the cops more. Let's take out the bus first."

Robin nodded and started forward only to stop himself short. By now their bus had pulled up almost side to side with the transport van. From their vantage, the younger vigilante could see the back of the school bus—why was there one of those things here?—and the person who was visible from the opened back door.

Man, Two-face was going at it with that van.

"Think you can handle the bus on your own?" Robin asked suddenly.

"What are you thinking?" Nightwing asked warily. "You're not thinking of doing something stupid, are you?"

"I think the guys in that van need a little help," he said.

"Robin," Nightwing said warningly.

"Just get the guys downstairs," he quipped over his shoulder as he climbed up onto the edge of the bus and with all the abandoned of an adrenaline junkie teen, leapt off. He landed on the roof of the transport van, jamming one of his throwing projectiles into the roof to use to steady himself.

Not looking behind him, he didn't see Nighting jump over the side of the bus, but instead of leaping over a short distance, he swung himself down and through the broken windows of the lower story. He was deliberately attracting the attentions of the gunman so that would direct their gunfire at him instead of his brash partner.

No, he had a bigger fish to fry in the form of Two-face who had stopped his shooting to glare down at him.

* * *

One minute, the boss man reveals himself to the masses, declaring his invincibility. Nevermind said man was walking into their trap, a sense of importance took over.

Then out of nowhere an eighteen wheeler crashes the party.

Huntress had been staring at the yellow school bus, having no doubt that Harvey Two-Face was on it. She could see the dichotomous bastard from here, firing round after round as the transport truck. So focused on him was she that she never noticed the imposing truck pull on to the street from an intersection and purposefully ram against her bus.

Wheels squealed as they were forced sideways on the pavement. Hissing, Huntress pulled the steering wheel right and then left, trying to get the bus back under her control. Looking to her right, she saw an eighteen wheeler keeping pace with her. While the cab looked the same, the trailer lacked a roof, revealing what looked like a pile of dirt and rock. The trailer bed was round, making it look more like a semi-circle than anything.

And then it veered at her again and bashed itself against her bus.

"Asshole!" Huntress shouted as she fought to keep the double-decker bus from crashing into the police convoy. Her other side mirror was damaged beyond repair and there was no doubt the exterior was dented and scratched up; the bus would need a new paint job before this night was over.

Then, just to make matters worse, the truck driver rolled his window down and stuck a machine gun out. From where she sat, Huntress could only make out a black sleeve and what appeared to be some sort of skull mask.

For some reason, she felt this wasn't one of Two-Face's guys.

"Batgirl, get down!" the purple-clad vigilante shouted as she punched down hard on the accelerator. The bus sped up and just in time as the truck driver began firing his gun. Sparks flew out as bullets ripped through the side of the bus, leaving holes in their wake. Windows shattered, sending pieces of glass flying all over the bus' interior. Huntress hunched over the steering wheel in an attempt to make herself a smaller target. _Pfft, like this would do any good_ , she grumbled in her head.

And then the shooting stopped, no doubt for the machine gun to be reloaded. The next thing Huntress knew, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Head jerking, she saw Batgirl climbing the staircase to the upper deck. No doubt she was going to make it a lot harder for them to be shot at.

Eyes dropping down to the eighteen-wheeler, she saw the driver stick out his weapon again, just as she predicted. However, the gun suddenly pointed in an awkward direction and the man dropped it, his arm quickly retreating back into the cab.

Huntress looked back to the road in front of her, a smirk on her face. Thank God for batarangs.

However, when she turned back to the truck, her eyes became the size of dinner plates. On top of the cab was Batgirl, the young girl crouching on it with one hand gripping onto the upper frame of the cab's window.

"What the hell?!" Huntress shouted as she made frequent looks to the road and back. Seriously, what was the girl trying to do? It wasn't like she could drive! And there she was, sitting on the track's cab like she thought she knew what she was doing. That idiot!

As if to prove her point—unfortunately—the driver of the eighteen-wheeler must have become aware of her presence, either because of her fingers poking through the open window, or the thump she made when landing on the truck. Either way, the brakes were suddenly applied, white smoke erupting from the wheels as the truck suddenly dropped back.

Twisting her head back, Huntress watched in horror as Batgirl was thrown off the top of the cab, her lithe body bouncing on the hood and then right in front of the large vehicle. Miraculously, the little girl managed to grab onto the truck's grill, stopping her from ending up a bloody spot on the road. Now she was just an oversized hood ornament, her hands clutching tightly to the grill, her legs curled up to her chest as her body was angled to a side.

Despite the save, Huntress had a sinking feeling in her gut that if something happened to the girl, Batman would forego his no-killing rule on her. No judge or jury, just straight to execution for the purple-clad vigilante. Grabbing the lever to the door, Huntress pulled on it hard, the door begrudgingly opening. That probably had something to do with how dented up it was from the repeated clashes it had been subjected to by other vehicles.

Regardless, Huntress began to slow the bus down, the cab of the truck pulling up along the bus' side. Eventually Batgirl became visible through the open door, though she had managed to change positions against the grill, the young vigilante facing the truck now with her feet pressed against the grill.

"Batgirl!" Huntress screamed, hoping to be heard over the combined sound of diesel engines and the deafening wind that undoubtedly made it hard for anyone to hear. "Jump! Get your butt back on the bus!"

Hopefully her words reached her, Batgirl's head turning to look in her direction. Gesturing her hand, Huntress waved her, her fingers pointing out before flipping towards her. "C'mon, you pain in the ass, jump!"

Either Batgirl ignored her, or Batman hadn't taught her just what that gesture meant. The purple-clad vigilante had a suspicion that it was probably the latter considering that not only did the girl not attempt to jump back onto the bus, but instead reached to her belt. She seemed to fiddle with one of the pockets before she held out a hand of what looked like caltrops.

 _No way, she's not gonna do what I think she's gonna do…_

Then, to Huntress' amazement and horror, Batgirl leaned downward on the grill, drawing her arm back before she jerked it towards the ground. She threw the caltrops right at the front driver's side tire, the metal points immediately sinking into the rubber.

Instantly, the tire blew, followed instantly by each and every tire behind it. Immediately, the truck swerved right, then left, snaking its way down the street and dropping back behind Huntress' bus. Because of the out-of-control motions, the truck couldn't stay grounded and began to lean to its right side. This put all of the truck's weight on those remaining tires and it couldn't hold up, tipping over.

With a loud _BANG!_ the eighteen-wheeler crashed down onto its side, the sound of metal scratching against the street screeching out.

Over and over, Huntress would tear her eyes away from the road in front of her to look out the back window, hoping against hope Batgirl was alright. It wasn't until she saw a small figure standing on top of the fallen eighteen-wheeler that she released the breath she hadn't known she had been holding.

One of these days, that little girl was going to give her a heart attack.

* * *

The fifth bus was proving itself to be troubling. A frown was growing on Batman's face as he tried to zero in on it, only for the driver to swerve left, then right, and then left again. The driver wasn't going to make this easy for him.

Batman tightened his grip on the steering wheel, careful not to push the red buttons. No way was he going to take a shot without being fully certain he would only hit his target.

The bus was drifting to the right, which the vigilante began to follow. He was starting to get an idea of how it was moving. Another swerve or so and he might have the confidence to take a shot. Just as he began to line up behind it, the bus started going left.

Because of this, Batman got a good sight of a rapidly approaching eighteen-wheeler. It was lying on its side, the cab up on the sidewalk, the trailer extending out into the street. Dirt and rock was spilling out and onto the road. More importantly, he saw Batgirl standing on top of it, watching the automotive procession.

What the hell was she doing up there?

Unfortunately, the distance between him and the overturned truck was shrinking way too quickly. In fact, the double-decker bus honked its horn as it forced itself into the police caravan, pushing a squad car out of line. The car honked back, only to crash right into a light pole, effectively putting it out of commission.

Batman should have gone into evasive maneuvers. However, unlike Dent's men, he cared what happened to the police and he wasn't going to shove his way into the convoy and potentially cause another accident. So, he hit a button on the console, the one to deactivate the car's cannons. In the meantime, he stared right at the trailer, his hands gripping tightly onto the steering wheel.

His index fingers found the trigger switch to activate the car's booster. Calmly, Batman breathed, though he found his eyes flickering up to Batgirl. Hopefully she had the sense to get off the blasted thing before he caused her harm too. However, he couldn't help but notice the girl was adjusting her stance for whatever reason.

Squeezing the trigger, the booster ignited, the dark car blasting forward as Batman felt himself being pressed into his seat. Simultaneously, Batgirl leaped off the overturned trailer, doing a backflip high in the air.

An instant later, the car rammed into the trailer, hitting it towards the back end. The metal container didn't stand a chance as it was ripped apart, dirt and rock shooting up into the air. A thick layer of dirt coated the car, but the wind blew most of it off within seconds.

Batman let go of the trigger then and the boosters stopped. Less than a moment later and he swore he heard something make a thud sound on the roof. The next thing he knew, Batgirl appeared right in front of the windshield, her small form crouching on the hood as her cape billowed out behind her.

A dark bubble of humor welled up within the vigilante. It seemed Cassandra was showing off a bit. The girl had done a backflip off the eighteen-wheeler and landed right on top of his car, bouncing off the roof to get better footing on the hood. It took precision, anticipation, and serious guts to pull that off. His little protégé seemed to have all three in spades.

However, he wasn't going to leave her out there. They had passed up the fifth bus with the booster and it was slowly drifting out of the police caravan to line up behind them. That made her an easy target.

Flicking a switch just above the console, the canopy of the car slid forward. Batgirl immediately sensed its approach and hopped forward, spinning around so that she could place her hands on the windshield once it stopped in front of her. The two vigilantes stared at each other for a moment before Batman ordered, "Get in."

Without hesitation, Batgirl went into a roll over the canopy, dropping right into the passenger seat with practiced ease. A moment later and the canopy began to slide back into place.

Due to their increased speed, the car caught up with a bulldozer that was in the middle of attacking the fourth bus. That caused Batman to frown. What the hell was this? Shouldn't they be on the same side? Something wasn't right about this, Batman was sure of it. Even though he had every intention to stop everyone attacking the police, he got the feeling that it was more than just Harvey Dent. That would need to be investigated later; in the meantime, he had an attack to thwart.

Hitting the accelerator, he rammed the front of the car against the back of the bulldozer, causing it to jerk from the collision. Men in black clothes and masks jerked their heads to look at them before they pointed their guns and opened fired on the car. Since it was bulletproof, the gunfire merely pelted the windshield and hood, not so much as leaving a scratch, though sparks did erupt from each impact site.

Batman hit the brakes then, causing the car to seemingly fly backwards. The fifth double-decker bus jerked back into the line as the caravan passed the black car by. In the meantime, the bulldozer pulled further ahead, putting considerable distance between it and the car.

That didn't last for long however, as the bulldozer began to drift backwards, pulling away from the fourth double-decker bus. They weren't going to give up attacking Batman's car it seemed.

Yet, they wouldn't have the chance to pick up on their futile attack. The fifth bus made itself known again as it began to emerge out of the police convoy. Gunfire erupted from the bus, pelting the bulldozer with lead, which lead to the men to return fire.

The bus drifted further into Batman's lane, attempting to ram the bulldozer. While that was normally a dumb move, the driver was aiming for the back third of the construction vehicle. The two collided and the bulldozer jerked away, the bus pressing towards it.

Which put it right in front of Batman's car. Activating the cannons, he made sure to adjust their angle, aiming not for the back of the bus, but rather the street below it.

Firing, the cannon blasts exploded right behind the back tires, the back of the bus lifting right off the road, incidentally causing it to speed up.

Because it had been angling to the right, the bus moved that way as well, which incidentally put it on the path to ramming the bulldozer again. Instead of hitting it towards the back though, the bus slammed right into its middle, forcing the bulldozer sideways with a loud, protesting shriek as metal scraped against asphalt. The two vehicles jumped onto the sidewalk and plowed into the front of a building, which brought both to a stop. Broken brick and stone fell all over the crashed bus and bulldozer, covering them both.

A couple moments later and Batman passed them both. Batgirl practically pressed herself against the window, turning her head to keep her eyes on them both.

"Are they down?" Batman asked.

A moment passed before Batgirl turned around and gave a sharp nod in response.

"Good."

* * *

Robin narrowed his eyes as air buffeted him, but he managed to keep his sights on the back of the school bus. Removing two more projectiles, he threw them one at a time towards the yellow bus, breaking the windows on either side of the bus' back door. Small explosions lit up inside, catching those blocked off Two-face's suited build off guard.

Even from here he could see the flashes from the detonations.

Two-face was holding onto the side of the opened door hatch, apparently trying to steady himself from the vigilante's attack. Now that he was off balanced, time to hit him when he was still unsteady. As he reached to his belt, he plucked out the last of his throwing projectiles. Huh, thought he had a few more on him. Guess he was over using them.

Now he was going to have to be careful.

Counting that he had three in total, he returned two and activated one. As the crime lord in front of him was getting ready to start shooting at him, the masked vigilante threw the spinning charge with the intention of taking out that machine gun. Robin hadn't anticipated on Two-face spotting it and shooting at it instead, causing the whirling explosive to detonate in midair.

Still, maybe that had been a good thing. The two-faced criminal was throwing himself backwards, meaning he wasn't trying to make Swiss cheese out of the costumed teen. There was a downside as some shrapnel was pelted his way, and he twisted his body enough so that his side would have to bear the brunt of this unintended consequence. His head was lowered so as to protected it better and in doing so, he was able to see what was going on in the double-decker beside him that was beginning drop back some.

Nightwing was doing some damage in there, taking out goon after goon. It was very close quarters in there, though, and one of the gunmen had stopped shooting at everything outside of the bus to wait until the older vigilante provided an opportunity to be taken out.

Not on Robin's watch. Probably not a good idea right now, but not only was he supposed to be saving the day out here, he was also supposed to watch his partner's back. Taking his second to last projectile, he threw it without hesitation, choosing not to activate the small explosive within. The goon was too close to the bus' driver, and it would be insane to take that one guy out before Nightwing could take control of the driving.

Oh yeah, nailed him in the side of the head! The guy was dropping down, a hand pressed to the side of his head. That ought to buy Nightwing some time. Now back to Two-face.

Instead of finding Gotham's Most Wanted, he found two thugs had taken the bastard's place. It was a good thing they were lousy shots, because their bullets bouncing off the roof of the transport van, missing him by a foot.

But he couldn't let them practice at hitting a moving target, what without all the vehicles here were drifting side to side and needing constant corrections to keep them on a straight path. Okay, so what did he have? Should he use his last projectile? Probably shouldn't. What else, what else. Wait, what were...actually, these might be helpful.

Pulling out several small balls, Robin identified them as gas pellets, you know, the things that made big, puffy clouds of smoke? Let's see if he couldn't make use of these.

Flicking his wrist, he sent on at the bus only for it to come up short and land somewhere on the road beneath them. Damn, not enough force. Let's try a second-oh wow, that last bullet was too close for comfort! Alright, second pellet and...it bounced off the back of the school bus, then off the front of the transport van, then went to who knew where.

Last chance. He ducked as a shot barely grazed his hair. His luck was running out, and in more ways than one. Do this, Drake. You probably only had one last shot at this.

The third smoke pellet zoomed ahead and disappeared from his sight. He couldn't tell where it went-oh great, he managed to get it in! A cloud of smoke erupted in the back of the bus, pouring out through the opened back door and disrupting the two thugs' target practice. Visibility was definitely becoming harder for them.

As he was feeling somewhat triumphant, the school bus began to veer then make a sharp turn, threading in between the two double-decker buses beside them. Leaving a trail of smoke in its wake, the school bus gunned it down the side street.

Looks like that was one less bus to worry about then. Okay, so what to do now.

As he was debating on whether he should get back on the double-decker Nightwing was on, the transport van began to pick up speed then drove between the double-decker buses, similar to how the school bus had. Robin winced as the van's rear bumper scraped against the front of the second double-decker bus, but the driver must have had some mad driving skillz because he had gained complete control over the vehicle and in record time too.

Now they were leaving the fray, the convoy with all the big rig vehicles attacking it continuing on straight.

Well, alright, okay, looks like the driver was getting them out of harm's' way, making sure that Thorne was taken to wherever it was the police were trying to take him. Since no one was chasing them, they were all distracted with everything back there.

Guess he was going to stick around and make sure they reached their destination. And if anybody else tried anything, they'd have to deal with him.

No problem.

* * *

There was one more interloper to take care of. The double-decker buses were either out of commission or were under the vigilantes' control. The construction vehicles were also mostly dealt with, leaving only one eighteen-wheeler left.

Pulling up behind it, Batman could see a couple of the masked men looking at him from various parts of the trailer. Their frantic motions spoke of their anxiety at the sight of Batman's car. The cannons were currently housed behind the headlights per usual, but with the presence of men in the trailer, Batman was less inclined to blow it up. That meant he had to use something else to disable it.

However, if the masked men were only going to visibly panic, that assumption was proven wrong. What was best described as a little door suddenly opened at the very back and dirt and gravel came pouring out. More dangerously though, was large chunks of cement with what appeared to be rebar sticking out fell out too.

Immediately, Batman slowed his car down, pulling off to the right to avoid the debris. From the top of the trailer, the masked men were picking up the jagged, broken pieces of cement—the ones they could lift anyways—and were chunking them over the side and right into the lane Batman was in.

So that's the way they wanted to play it.

Gritting his teeth and hoping his tires wouldn't blow out suddenly, Batman punched down on the accelerator, his car speeding up. Slowly the eighteen-wheeler drifted backwards until he was outright speeding past it. A couple pieces of debris had pelted the car, but fortunately that was all.

Slowly turning the wheel, the car drifted into the lane in front of the eighteen-wheeler. Now that he was out in front of it, the only threat was gunfire, assuming the truck's occupants tried to shoot at him.

For now, the vigilante was in a quandary. When he had customized his car, Most of the enhancements to the car were towards the front, which meant it was designed for chasing targets down rather than running from them. Still that didn't mean there weren't a couple other defenses.

Checking his mirrors, Batman saw the eighteen-wheeler was right behind them. Part of him wanted to hit the brakes and see if the truck's grill could stand up to the reinforced rear of the car. The thought of having to buff out the dents that would cause made him think differently though.

Hitting a couple buttons on the console, Batman looked back to his mirror, waiting for the defense protocol to be put into place. Right now, two nozzles were extending out of the bumper, pointed at the street. The corner of the dark-clad man's mouth twitched up when a black puddle appeared, stretching out down the street. It was something out of a cartoon show, admittedly, but there was a reason why the nozzles were squirting out oil to make an oil slick.

The eighteen-wheeler drove right into the slick and the results were immediately. The truck began to swerve back and forth, the driver losing control even as he fought to regain it. The tires squealed under the pressure of the weight of the heavy truck and the loss of traction. The men in the trailer were gripping onto the sides, trying to steady themselves.

And then the trailer began to jackknife, swinging around until it formed a ninety degree angle with the cab. That was when the end of the trailer slammed right into the pole for the traffic signals. Vibrations from the collision reverberated throughout the eighteen-wheeler, causing it to lurch forward before the trailer ripped out of the restraints and locking mechanisms that tied it to the cab. It then tipped over and fell onto its side, spilling the rest of its contents out onto the street, along with the masked men.

With the loss of the trailer, the cab went spinning in a circle, still moving forward. That lasted until one of the tires hit the curb of the sidewalk and threw it off its precarious balance. Like the trailer, it fell onto its side, skidding into the front of a couple stores.

Batman deactivated the oil nozzles then, spinning the steering wheel around so that his car could turn around to face the carnage behind him. His foot hit the break as he did this, the black vehicle coming to a stop.

"What do you think?" Batman asked out loud before looking to Batgirl. "Any more surprises?"

Batgirl looked to him before shaking her head in the negative.

"That's what I thought too."

* * *

Though destruction was left in their wake, this long night on one of the longest stretches of road law enforcement had come to know was at an end. Four double-decker buses were out of commissioner, two were mysteriously parked on the side of the road, though the men in them incapacitated, and various construction vehicles were trashed/torn apart. There were also law enforcement vehicles in various states of wear, whether they were smashed, bullet-riddled, or scraped to all hell.

All and all, it could have been much worse.

After the last of the eighteen-wheelers had been crashed, Gordon had ordered the convoy to stop. All immediate danger appeared to be neutralized, though the commissioner had given the command for all officers to remain in their cars while SWAT was given a chance to truly shine and secure the area.

Once the clears and come in, the rest of the convoy participants flooded out with a vengeance, zeroing on the attacking vehicles. With their guns raised, safeties off, they approached all the double-decker buses and construction vehicles, all understandable in the mood to shoot first.

The commissioner couldn't blame them. It had been a long night.

Like a well-oiled machine, the men and women who made up Gotham's Finest began rounding up Dent's men, most of whom were either unconscious or regaining conscious. Those who were waking up from their, ahem, naps were roughly pressed down and not too gently cuffed. Then there were the men who were beyond saving, dead from the chaotic firefight that had taken up the street. Whose bullets were the killers, hard to say, but that was forensics job to find out.

That left the other group, the ones in jumpsuits and skull masks. Gordon had no idea who they were and as he approached a group that was being dragged away from one of the eighteen-wheelers by SWAT, he gave them a good lookover.

Nothing really stood out about them. Not really a good thing these days. Though, he recalled there was a street gang that was making the rounds, one of their traits being the either paint the image of a skull on their faces or they wore skull masks. Coincidence? Something that sounded like it needed to be checked out, more likely.

He gave the order to have these men brought back to the precinct and booked. Anyone of them who were too injured would be transported to the hospital, though restrained with pair of handcuffs to prevent any harebrained escape attempts.

As those matters were being taken care of, Gordon gave a look around. He knew he wouldn't find anything, but that didn't stop him from searching out where the city's resident vigilantes were. The smart thing for them would have been to disappear as soon as the last attacking vehicle was taken out. It's what he would do had he been in their place.

No signs of the car that could only belong to the Batman.

Speaking of which, that was a very slick-looking car. There was a part of Gordon that wanted to know where the vigilante found it and if he could get his hands on one. At the very least, it would make the commute to work much more entertaining.

Seems like the vigilantes had cleared out. Not his problem then. Time to get a head count, both on his men, Dent's, and their unexpected guests. In the distant, he could hear the sounds of sirens and they were moving closer. The first responders would be on the scene in no time. Good, medical attention for his men first; they needed it.

Now, for perhaps the most important part. Had their trap accomplished what it set out to do?

Moving quickly down the street, Gordon swept his eyes over anything and everything, trying to find the scarred former ally of his. Spotting Sarah instead, he called out to her and made his inquiry.

"Haven't heard anything yet, but we're still looking," his wife told him, taking a second to communicate with another officer through the radio. "Alright, I have the men looking for him. Do you think he might be on one of those buses?"

"He better damn well be," Gordon almost grumbled. If Dent was nowhere on the scene, then this whole thing would have been done for nothing. The whole purpose of it was to draw the son of a bitch out, after all.

From the point on, the commissioner had to organize law enforcement's efforts to clean up the mess they had intentionally made. He had to do his best not to grimace at all the property damage. The mustached man had a feeling that someone was going to have to answer for this, and since he was heavily involved it would have to be him.

They better have caught Dent. Oh, he hoped so much they got Dent.

By now, the first responders were coming into sight, ambulances and fire trucks skidding to a stop in any and all available spaces. Medical attention was here at last.

A sharp whistle caught Gordon's attention, and he soon spotted Bullock jogging up to him. "Yo! Com'mish!" the husky man called out to him.

Gordon stopped where he stood and waited for the lieutenant to catch up to him. "Bullock?"

"Have you seen the van? The one we stuck Thorne in?" Bullock half-asked, half-demanded.

That caused a frown to form on the commissioner's face. For a bit, he had forgotten that the captured mob boss was in the convoy. "It should be around here somewhere. Shouldn't it be towards the front?"

"I just got back from checking the front, it ain't there," Bullock reported.

Gordon's frown deepened and was accompanied with a growing sense of dread. "Search again," he ordered. "We can't have lost Thorne. Not now."

"I got Montoya trying to radio the thing but so far no answer."

That feeling of dread was growing larger.

"Use the tracking device we have on it. Find that van. We need two mob bosses, we can't lose one of them." Quickly, he looked around the chaotic scene, hoping to find something that promised to make this whole night worth it.

What the hell was happening now?

* * *

Since they had left the police convoy, things had been pretty quiet. Robin still remained vigilant, keeping an eye out for any threat that might happen to pop up without warning. So far nothing, the city staying quiet for once.

The transport van passed street after street, traffic being very light. So light in fact, you'd be hard pressed to see anybody. Not that the teen vigilante blamed them. All the noise from Two-face's attack should have scared enough sensible people to hide and wait the whole thing out.

Actually, that was probably the smartest thing anyone could do tonight.

The van began to slow and took a left, pulling into an empty parking lot. At that point, it seemed like the driver was so done with this because he double-parked the van, taking up several of the marked off spaces. The engine was left running, in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

All in all, this part of the night had been really calm. After the adrenaline-filled action from before, this bit was so...underwhelming in a way.

Robin supposed he shouldn't be ungrateful. He bet there were plenty of people who would love having nothing particularly exciting happen. Guess he better get back then, see what else he could do to help out.

For some reason, the young vigilante paused. Something felt off to him. Taking a quick look around, he saw that there was another vehicle in the parking lot, a school bus to be exact.

A school bus?

Without warning he was yanked back as something grabbed his cape and pulled. Having not expected it, the masked teen lost his balance and fell off the van. The pavement was pretty unwelcoming, and he winced as he landed on his back weirdly. The young vigilante had no time to recover or get his bearings as large hands grabbed and restrained him, pulling him up so that he was on his knees.

Then the blow to the face came. Then a second hit. A punch to the gut, and then again to the head. Stars filled his vision, and for a moment he was dazed. When he came around, Robin found himself being held by two of Two-face's goons, his arms pinned behind his back and a foot pressing down on his lower leg.

Beside him, he became aware of one of the officers who had been in the front of the van had been pulled out and also assaulted. The cop's protective helmet had been yanked off, leaving his head awfully exposed.

Off to a side stood none other than Two-face who gazed coolly down on the two of them, flipping a coin idly. The half-ugly bastard was surrounding by more of his bigger, tougher-looking men and damn, this was not looking good.

"Good work, Max," Two-face commented, glancing over at—what the, what was that other cop doing standing near the crime boss? Oh damn, this guy was dirty, wasn't he? The cop pulled off his helmet and visor, revealing a thin head complete with mussed up hair and a freckled face. "Looks like you haven't left your days as a getaway driver behind you."

"It was tricky, but nothing I couldn't handle," Max boasted.

"Looks like you brought me something else along with Thorne," Two-face continued. "A wannabe Batman, it looks like. Annoying, though."

"Should we waste them both?" Max asked.

Not giving an answer immediately, Two-face flipped his coin. Looking at the results, he shook his head. "Knock the cop around a bit but leave him alive. Take Batman Jr. here with us. Feel free to rough him up a bit."

Robin struggled in his capturers' grasp, trying to yank himself free. The strength of the two men, however, held strong and refused to budge. Two-face was blocked from sight as one of his goons stepped forward and the next thing he knew, a fist was turning off his lights.

* * *

The doors to the back of the transport van opened, Thorne blinking owlishly at the sight in front of him.

To Two-face's pleasure, there was a lot of fear on the bastard's face as he recognized who it was that was waiting on him.

"Hello Thorne, been a while," the disfigured criminal greeted.

"Dent! What the hell are you doing here!" Thorne exclaimed, shrinking back.

"Just a little unfinished business," Two-face replied as he pulled out a gun. "About ten months ago, you got a lucky break. Now we're going to see if your luck holds tonight."

"Listen, Harvey, we can talk this out," Thorne protested. "You don't have to do this. We can...we can come to some sort of understanding."

"You know, you're right. I don't have to do this," Two-face said. When Thorne seemed to relax, he continued, "The coin is the one that gets to decide."

"No, Harvey!" Thorne tried again as the crime lord flipped said coin. Catching it, he opened his hand up to reveal the result.

Bad heads.

The left side of his face smiling grimly, Two-face raised his gun up and fired two shots at his archenemy. The first bullet struck Thorne in the chest, the second in the middle of his forehead. Eyes wide in panic but fading as death took hold, Thorne's corpse slumped back in its seat and remained there.

Lowering his gun, Two-face stared dispassionately at the sight. There, it was done. After all this time, the bastard that had plagued his days as the city's district attorney, who had caused him so many headaches and long, long nights, and played a role in his fall from grace was done. No more could he cause anybody any problems.

No more would he ever have to think about the smug bastard again.

"Make some Swiss cheese in there and head back to the Half Moon," he ordered as he turned away. There was still some unfinished business to take care of in the form of that vigilante they had captured. Already, he had some ideas of what he could use him for, if the coin didn't say differently, of course.

Behind him, his men made sure that there was no way Thorne would be coming back anytime soon as they fired a barrage of shots into the back of the van.


	20. A Line is Crossed

A Line is Crossed

The henchman was starting to come to. That was fortunate, just not for him.

Grabbing the man by his shirt, Batman dragged him to a nearby car and roughly shoved him up against it. This caused the man to yelp as he became more alert, his whole body stiffening at the sight of the vigilante.

"Alright, punk, I have a few questions for you," Batman growled as he started into the man's terrified eyes. "And you _will_ answer them. I want to know who hired you."

"I-I-I can't say," the thug stammered.

Batman leaned his face closer, which caused the man to turn his to a side in an attempt to put gain some distance, no matter how minute. "Last chance, dirtbag. I know several different ways I can break the bones in your hand. I can mangle it until it's useless. Now tell me who your boss is, or get ready for a world of pain."

"I don't know!" the thug screamed, his body beginning to thrash in a poor attempt to fight back. "The guy never showed himself to anyone, honest! He just used a couple middlemen. That's all I know!"

The Dark Knight grabbed the man's arm at the wrist and pinned it to the car. He wasn't going to break anything just yet, but he did want the hand ready. It also served as a stark reminder of his threat. "Who were the ones you met then?" he pressed.

"Guy named Eddie Foster. He's one of those smooth talkers if you know what I mean. He and some friend of his asked me if I wanted to do a job for them. Normally I don't work with Eddie, but he was pretty persuasive."

So Foster was involved in this. It must have been his gang that joined Dent's attack on the police caravan. So there were two different groups involved. "Who was with him?"

"Don't know. Never met the guy until then and let me tell ya, he was a friggin' giant. A freakin' monster of a man. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have joined this thing."

So he was trying to pass the blame? How gutless. "You're telling me you got forced into this?"

"It was his eyes, man. If you saw them, you'd know. I could've sworn that if I said no, he would've eaten me or somethin'. They weren't normal eyes, ya know? His were all blood thirsty."

Batman highly doubted this punk was pressured into mounting an attack of gang members and police. For now it didn't matter. "Where is Foster now?"

"No idea, I swear! He always came to me. Tonight he told everyone to meet at some construction site; that's where we got all of our rides and stuff. Then we set off for here."

Batman slid his hand down the man's arm until he firmly grasped his hand. He managed to get ahold of one of the man's fingers and began putting pressure to it. "I swear to God I'm telling you the truth!" he cried out.

The dark-clad man believed him. From what he knew of Foster's movements as of late, he didn't act without having some distance between him and his men. That seemed to be the hallmark of his boss as well. However, there was another way for him to get an answer.

Leaning his head back, Batman then swung it forward, headbutting the goon and knocking him out cold. Releasing him, the man slumped to the ground unconscious.

Turning away, the vigilante headed to his car, which was parked nearby. Batgirl was standing next to it, Huntress as well. "What'd he say?" the purple-clad woman asked.

Batman walked by her even as he pulled out a small bag. Crouching next to the car, he ran his fingers over the dirt and grime that marred the vehicle's surface. This was from the contents of the eighteen-wheelers. Seeing as they were taken from a construction site, finding out where it came from would be easy with a sample. Gathering as much as he could into a small pile, he then pushed it into the bag.

"I take that as a no," Huntress remarked.

"Nothing definitive other than he was hired by Eddie Foster," Batman replied as he sealed the bag, placing it back into a pouch on his belt. "I'll be analyzing this dirt to see where it came from, the same with identifying the trucks."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"It is."

It was then someone else joined their little group. Walking at a quick pace was Nightwing, his face pale and twisted with worry. "Hey, have you three seen Robin anywhere?" he demanded.

Batman and Huntress glanced at each other before the dark-haired woman shook her head. "I know I haven't," she said before nodding once to the Dark Knight, "and I get the feeling Batman hasn't either."

Nightwing came to a stop in front of them, running a hand through his hair. "That's not what I wanted to hear," he said, half-groaning, half-stressed.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Batman asked.

"On top of the armored truck. After that, everything's a blur. I haven't been able to find him."

"So you want us to help you?" Huntress questioned, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking."

Before anyone could respond, another interloper approached them. This time it was Gordon and he was rushing over to them. "Batman!" he called out, his trench coat whipping behind him. "We've got a problem!"

Batman turned his attention from Nightwing, much to the younger man's annoyance. "What is it?"

"I just found out the truck with Thorne is missing. No one knows where it is."

Again, Batman and Huntress looked to each other, though this time alarm was on their faces. "How long has it been missing?" the Dark Knight demanded.

"As far as I can gather, ten, maybe fifteen minutes," Gordon answered, which wasn't all that long. The truck had to be close by.

"Robin was also on the truck," Nightwing was quick to point out. "I'm betting wherever it is, so is he."

"Assuming whoever took the truck still has it," Huntress retorted. "All anyone would need is Throne and that's it. You could discard the truck."

That was a fair point. And considering that Dent wanted Thorne so bad, he would've taken anyone aboard if that meant he could get Thorne. If Robin was there and got overwhelmed, then he would've been captured and taken away.

 _Goddamn it._

Whirling around, Batman searched the street around him. Spotting an officer walking a limping man dressed in Dent's colors, the vigilante stormed towards them, catching up with them just as they reached a squad car. Pushing by the officer, Batman grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him up against the car, lifting him up into the air as his feet dangled beneath him.

"Where's Dent?" he demanded, ignoring the thug's choked gags.

When the man only made gagged noise, he rammed his fist into his side, feeling a rib give against his knuckles. "Answer me!"

"I don't know!" the goon cried out.

"By my count, you have twenty three more ribs I can break. Think hard if you want to continue taking deep breaths for granted."

"I swear, it's the truth! The boss doesn't stay in the same place for long! No one knows where he's gonna be until he calls. He said that if everything went right with this job, we were going somewhere else!"

"Where?!"

"He never said!"

Batman tightened his grip around the man's throat. This was not going to be another runaround like with Foster's man. Too much was riding on this. However, his eyes did catch sight of a bulge in the man's pants pocket. Pressing his free hand against it, he realized it was a box. Shoving his hand into the pocket, he pulled out a box of cigarettes.

Tossing it aside, he reached back into the pocket and pulled out a small pack of matches. The cover had the words THE WILD DEUCE written on it.

The vigilante's eyes narrowed. These were complimentary matchbooks from a club. If he recalled what Doubleday had said, Dent had been using such places as his hideouts. If that was the case, then it was likely his men had matchbooks from other clubs. This could potentially narrow down where Dent had been the last few nights.

Dropping the man to the ground, Batman strode away from him. The police officer moved in to haul the punk up and shove him into the police cruiser. The entire time the cop had looked the other way, allowing the Dark Knight to do his interrogation. It seemed there was a understanding of sorts here, or the cop didn't care what happened to his prisoner. Either way, it was nice to have the professional courtesy extended.

"Fan out," he told the other vigilantes and Gordon as he approached them. "Search all of Dent's men. He's been using clubs as his safehouses; his men may be able to help us narrow down which ones."

* * *

The Wild Deuce was busy tonight. From the overhead windows that lined the roof, anyone standing up there could look down into the building and see all the activity.

The establishment had a heavy focus on gambling, card tables, crap tables, even slot machines dotted the floor. A bar area was placed strategically in a corner, close to the entrance to a smaller room for those not feeling the gambling bug and a need to dance their worries away. How much money was being exchanged down there could make a person question their life choices.

Except the small group of vigilantes perched on the roof were not going that. They were marking who were the threats, who were the ones to ignore, and where to start their raid first.

Nightwing had had experience with this group before, though it varied individually. Huntress he was somewhat comfortable with, if only because he kept teaming up with her in these kind of situations. Batgirl he was still getting used to. He had nothing against her, but at the same time he had a nagging feeling that Barbara should be the one in that costume that would not shut up. Lastly, there was the Batman who had his cape covering most of his body, a picture of stoicness even though he was probably calculating every single action he was going to do down there.

Desperate times called for desperate measures though. This was for Tim whom he hadn't been able to get in touch with. The commissioner's words about that missing van continued to eat at him, his decision to allow his younger partner to take the risks he had gnawing at his insides.

He'd do the "if onlys" later. Right now it was about pulling the teen out of the fire he found himself in.

"So how are we going to get in? Front door?" he asked. He caught Huntress shooting him this look; it wasn't smug or pitying or anything like that. More like a "you're about to find out." It confused him but he was too busy focusing on the here and now to really process it.

It was Batman, however, who answered him.

"Like this."

Nightwing's eyes boggled as the larger masked man jumped and crashed down, no, crashed _through_ the ceiling windows and plummeted down to the floor below. He landed on top of one of the card tables, smashing it in half and sending cards and poker chips everywhere.

Huh, well that was one way.

"Don't think too hard, you get used to it," Huntress told him casually as she followed after Batgirl, the smaller female vigilante practically a streak in the air as she dived into the club, striking down two armed men who were pulling out their guns. The two were hit back into a card table, one lying flat on the table's surface while the other crumpled down onto the floor.

Huntress was weaving through the crowd of gamblers and clubgoers, flinging H-shaped shurikens at anybody who seemed a threat. Two-face's goons either cried out or grimaced as their weapons were knocked out of their hands. Anyone who got too close to her were decked, kneed in the stomach, or dispatched in one way or another.

Batman, meanwhile, strolled through the receding rush of patrol, only attacking at the last second when one suited thug came charging at him, fist raised to throw a blow. Dodging to a side, the Dark Knight grabbed the man's arm and used it a fulcrum, pulling down and throwing the guy halfway across the gambling den. Spinning around, Batman grabbed hold of the barrel of a shotgun that had been pointed at him mere inches away and directed it towards the roof. A punch to the shotgun-wielding man's sternum left him breathless and was followed up by an uppercut to the chin.

That left Nightwing still on the roof, watching everything from above until he realized what he was doing. Get your head into the game, man! Robin needed you and if he was down there somewhere, you needed to be in there taking care of business and, you know, rescuing him.

Without another thought, he leapt through the hole in the ceiling window, curling himself into a ball as he flipped through the air. In the last second, he uncurled, letting his feet impact one of the gambling tables, his knees bending to allow his legs to absorb the shock from suddenly stopping.

Then he pressed down with his legs and leapt, soaring over the escaping crowd towards the bar area. He had spotted one of the bartenders ducking down for a moment, then reappearing with a shotgun in hand. As the guy was aiming the weapon, Nightwing came down on him, striking the guy with his feet and hitting him back against the wall, bottles of alcohol smashing behind him or falling to the floor and shattering.

Picking pulling out one of his escrima sticks, he hurled it at a second bartender that was arming himself. The bartender gave a cry as he was nailed in the head and crumpled down onto the floor, dropping his weapon.

Quickly, the vigilante ducked behind the bar as two of Two-face's men began firing at him, both armed with pistols. Bottles of booze were blasted to oblivion, the liquid falling and splashing him costumed body. It was very annoying as the last thing he needed to be doing was smelling like an alcoholic.

Sneaking a hand up, he snagged an unbroken bottle. Counting down to three, he then threw the bottle over the counter and at the two men. There was a half second pause, Nightwing counting on his little distraction to be the cause. Though he heard the gunfire continue, there was less of it hitting the counter.

Good.

He leapt over the bar, the gunmen finishing off the flying bottle. As the glass shattered, the alcoholic contents splattered onto them, causing them to halt their fire momentarily. It was a moment too long as the vigilante was about to close the distance between them and himself rapidly. With a final leap, he found himself midair between the two men and simultaneously kicked both of his feet in opposing directions. One foot landed against one man's face, the other the other man's chest.

Planting his hands down on the carpeted floor, he completed his maneuver by pushing down on his arms and flipping, throwing an escrima stick out to knock out the gunman whose chest he had hit previously. Landing on his feet, Nightwing quickly surveyed his immediate surroundings, finding he had taken out both gunmen.

Time to find someone else.

Dashing across the floor, the masked man snatched up the electrified baton he had thrown. By now, most of the inhabitants of the building had fled, there was much property damage, and quite a few henchmen scattered throughout the place. From the corner of his eye, he managed to spot a suited man trying to sneak his way out along with the last few stragglers.

It was too easy to tell that this guy was definitely an employee, and in a second, Nightwing was all over him, tackling the bastard into a wall and decking him in the face, incapacitating him. The guy wasn't knocked, and from the way he had slumped down when he was released, he probably was wishing he had been.

The costumed vigilante was tempted to fulfill that wish.

"Nice reflexes there," Huntress called out as she approached from behind. "Would you look at that, he's still conscious."

Before Nightwing could make any reply, he felt more than heard the silent presence behind him. Instinctively, he moved to aside as Batman brushed past him, reaching down and pulling up the conscious goon off the floor.

Slamming the man against the wall, the Dark Knight growled, "I'll only ask once. Where's Dent?"

Nightwing put a little distance between himself and the interrogation in front of him. He couldn't see Batman's face, but whatever expression he was making, the poor schmuck he was holding looked terrified.

Batman's voice lowered more threateningly, as if it was possible, "Well?"

The suited henchmen swallowed, wincing from the swelling that was starting to appear on the side of his face. Stammering, he finally answered, "H-h-he's n-n-n-no-ot-ot h-h-he-he-here."

"Tell me where he is, or this will become more painful for you."

The younger male vigilante continued to watch, his heart beginning to beat faster. He did not want to think that they had ended up at the wrong place. Every second mattered here. Until Robin could be located, he had to assume the worst and that he had been captured. If that was truly the case, all the possibilities that came with it were all unpleasant.

Now that the action had died down, he could only urge on Gotham's most famous hero to do what was necessary to find his younger partner.

There was a cry of pain, Batman having turned the suited man around so that his front was pressed into the wall behind him, an arm pulled up behind his back and being raised higher and higher.

"You can make this stop, give me the answers I want," Batman stated while the man he held was howling in pain.

"He's not here! He's not here!" the man cried out. "He left instructions to handle business as usual. He's just not here!"

"Then where?"

"One of the other places. I don't know which!"

"Give me a name. Now."

Balling his hands into fists, Nightwing swore that this guy better give them a name. Or things were going to get much uglier.

* * *

Robin glowered from where he sat, restrained to a chair with ropes wrapped around him tightly. His arms were held behind the back of his chair, his legs tied to the chair's own. No chances were being left open to give him an opportunity to escape.

Not that he had ever practiced any, you know, escape tricks or anything. Now was looking like a good time to look into some Harry Houdini stuff. It looked like it would come in handy in this situation.

All around he could see tables, all accompanied with any number of chairs. Couches lined the walls and somewhere to his right, there looked to be what was a stage. Based on the quality of the furniture, the decorations, and even the layout of the place, this had to be some high end club at the least.

Where, though, escaped him, no pun intended.

All of that was the least of his concerns. All around him were Two Ton Gang members, some sitting, others standing up intimidatingly. For the past half hour, they had been slapping him around, occasionally punching him in the gut, and when they weren't doing that, picking at his mask. So far they had failed at that last one, unable to pull it off thanks to the vacuum sealing the thing did. Never before had he ever been so thankful for that feature, though the skin around his mask was beginning to chafe from all the pulling and rubbing.

All the physical stuff stopped when a smaller, freckled guy showed up and told them all to knock it off. The boss wanted to speak with him. Said boss was nowhere to be found so far, but whenever he showed up, it would mean he was running out of time.

From the corner of his eyes, he spotted the figure of Tony Zucco, the guy who had thrown Nightwing for a loop just by looking at him. The murderer was by the stage, keeping himself apart from everyone else and looking completely uninterested. It was like he thought he was better than the bad guys here and kept away so they wouldn't get their bad guy germs on him.

How was he going to be getting out of this one? Seriously. He couldn't speak into his earpiece without giving away he was trying to communicate with Oracle. He didn't have anything on him to try and cut the ropes binding him. He was so unprepared for all this, it would be hilarious if he hadn't been right in the middle of it.

Then the bossman finally showed up, Two-face. He was flipping a coin as he made his approach, his larger men moving to allow him a clear path. Beside him was another short, freckled man—oh geez, they were twins. Twins. Now that he thought about it, he had thought he'd seen one of them in a police getup.

This was just...it was becoming too much.

"Well lookie what we got here," Two-face commented as he came to a stop a few feet in front of him. "I steal an armored van and I get a bonus with it. That's a fancy outfit you have on you. Nothing homemade about it. I'm betting you're one of the career vigilantes running around, aren't you."

That last part was more of a statement than a question. Regardless, Robin didn't answered and merely glared back. He had no words to say to this bastard.

"Looks like he's giving the silent treatment," Two-face quipped, flipping and catching his coin, not bothering to see which side it landed on.

"Hasn't said a word since he got here," the first twin groused, crossing his arms.

"That so?" Two-face took a step forward, as if to get a better look at him. "So, how's the brave act working for you? From the looks of things, not well. My men seemed to have been a bit too rough with you. Normally, I'd let them have their way with you, but I have a better idea."

Bending down, the disfigured crime lord made direct eye contact. It was unnerving, to say the least. Especially since Robin had once been in this man's presence before, though under different circumstances. That time, it had been a whole face, clean, warm, comforting. Heck, there had even been some inspiration in the mix. Not so anymore. It was intimidation, dominance, and fear-inducing.

But he was not about to let this asshole know anything other than he wasn't afraid. He wouldn't be afraid. He refused to be afraid.

"You have some nice toys on you, not the kind of stuff you make at home," Two-face remarked. "I'm guessing that you got it from someone, someone who really knows what they're doing. I bet I even know who that someone is. So, here's the deal. I want you to tell me everything you know about the Batman. Give me him, and it'll go a long way into letting you see tomorrow morning."

Oh hell no. No. He was not about to tell this ugly bastard anything, even if what he knew was extremely little.

"He's not coming to save you," Two-face told him. "He doesn't even know you're here, wherever here is. It's just little you in a den of lions ready to tear you apart. You're helpless and things are about to get so much worse for you. Do yourself a favor, give me the Batman."

Robin held his head up, refusing to say anything. If his mouth weren't so dry right now, he'd spit at the former district attorney.

"That's the way it's going to be, eh kid? You've got guts," Two-face shrugged as he pulled back silently. "If you won't help yourself, I suppose you'll have to suffer."

He didn't need to help himself. Not that he could, but he trusted his partner, Nightwing, to figure things out. Plus, with Oracle hacked into all the street cameras, she'd be able to figure out where they were. Then she'd let the cavalry know and then the teen would be having the last laugh. Time, though. Time seemed to be slipping away too quickly.

But he was not about to give in. Not here.

Two-face stared down at him, neither side of his face giving away what he was thinking. He had stopped flipping that stupid coin of his, rubbing it between his fingers instead. Okay, what was he thinking about now?

"I'm curious. Despite all the danger you're in, you're keeping up this brave front of yours. Makes me wonder who's under that mask you're wearing," Two-face commented.

"The guys have been trying to pull it off but nada," the first twin reported.

"I see," Two-face grunted, his right eye narrowing. Probably focusing on the chafing skin. "You say they've been trying to pull it off."

"Uh huh," the twin confirmed. "It's like the thing's glued on."

"Think we can tear it off?" the second twin asked.

"It might work, then again it could tear half his face off," the crime lord contemplated. "Defeats the purpose of seeing his face." Then, Two-face addressed to him, "How do you take it off, kid? You've got to take it off sometime. What's the secret?"

You've gotta be kidding. If you thought you were wrong about him saying anything about Batman, you were going to have less luck asking about the mask. Robin was many things, but he wasn't that stupid.

"Why don't you just kill him already?" Tony Zucco spoke up. "He's just some punk trying to get under your skin."

"You can shut up, Zucco," Two-face growled. "Who's in charge here? You or me?"

Zucco looked miffed but said nothing, looking away.

Returning his gaze to the teenaged vigilante, a contemplative expression fell over his face. Naturally, it was the left side of his face that was the most expressive. "Alright, kid, tell me. Have you ever heard of Chinese finger traps?"

Now the masked teenager was feeling confused. Chinese finger traps? Those little woven tube things that little kids used on each other? Those were the things he was talking about, right?

"Kids use it as a toy nowadays," Two-face confirmed the teen's thoughts. "They trick one another, convince another kid whose not in the know, and have him stick his fingers into either side of the cloth-like tube. Then kid tries to pull his fingers out, but can't. The fibers that make this thing tighten, traps the brat's fingers and no matter how hard he tries, he can't squirm or pull them out.

"Thing is, there's a trick. No matter how hard you pull, you won't get your fingers out. What you need to do is push your fingers in. It makes a bulge in the middle of the trap and then you can slip a finger out. Then you're free."

Okay...so where was he going with this?

"I wonder if it's the same thing here," Two-face continued, eying the teen's mask. "Instead of trying to pull it off, maybe we're going about it the wrong way. Where to start?"

The disfigured crime lord raised up a hand and pressed it down on the mask. He trailed his fingers against the material, as if searching for some kind of weakness. Robin's gut was starting to get antsy, but he kept silent. His identity was still safe. So long as Two-face didn't figure out how to take the mask off, he was still safe. Besides, he wasn't doing it right.

Two-face's fingers met with Robin's nose, his pointer and middle fingers moving over the bridge of the teen's nose and his thumb stopping opposite them. "Is this it?" the former district attorney murmured as his fingers and thumb pressed down, their grip tightening.

And off came the mask.

Air rushed onto the chilled skin of Tim Drake's exposed face. For a second, he couldn't believe what had happened, though the sight of Two-face holding his mask in one hand taunted him. Immediately, he schooled his facial features into a look of defiance, even though he felt himself paling at this horrible turn in events.

Two-face's thugs and goons were now getting a good look at him. "He's just a...kid," one of the twins stated, bewildered. Looking around, he asked loudly, "Anybody recognize him?"

No affirmatives yet, not that it mattered. Tim's body was beginning to tremble from the stress of the situation, even though he fought with every fiber of his being to remain in control. He…he couldn't show any weakness. Not now.

Of all the people in the room getting a good look at him, it was Two-face's reaction that was a bit more...dramatic. His right eye had widened slightly, his mouth had dropped a little, and obviously, he was recognizing him. Definitely, definitely not good. There was still a chance, however small, that he wouldn't though. How many teenagers had this guy ever met and tried to, you know, inspire them or whatever? Probably too many to count, right?

"I know you," Two-face uttered, destroying any and all hopes Tim might have had. "So...this is your answer."

 _So find your answer. Figure out how you can change things so that people like you and your family don't have to suffer through this. It won't be easy. Even after you do figure it out. Because then you have to put it into practice, and that's harder to do than finding out what you can do, what you can change._

Recalling the very words this man had told him so many months ago and seeing now what he had become, it caused rage to overpower any fear he was experiencing. Youthful disrespect came to the forefront as he spat out, "Yeah, this was my answer. You're the one who told me to find it, remember?"

"You know this kid?" the other twin asked, looking up in shock at his boss.

Blinking, Two-face schooled his expression, his right eye narrowing. "Looks to me you chose the wrong answer, kid. What did you think you were going to accomplish, dressing up like that. Beat up a few criminals? Hunt down all the serial killers on the planet?"

"Changing things," Tim retorted, reinforcing his glare with fury as the very man who had tried to inspire him was now mocking him. "Just like _you_ told me to."

"The man who told you to do that is long gone," was the retort. "He was weak. A tool. When he needed to do his job, he hid behind the so-called cogs of justice. 'It takes time.' Right. In the end, he couldn't do what needed to be done."

"And you have?" Tim demanded incredulously. "You're destroying the city you swore to protect! The man I met, Harvey Dent, he believed in this city. In Gotham. He believed in me, some kid he was never going to meet again. That didn't stop him from trying to help me."

"And look at where it's gotten you. You're in a bad place, kid," Two-face interrupted. "Didn't Mommy and Daddy ever tell you not to be a vigilante? It's a very dangerous profession and you never know when somebody might find out who you are. They could do some very, very bad things to the people you love as a way to get back at you."

"So what are you going to do?" he challenged. "Let's cut through the crap."

"Have it your way," Two-face chuckled. Then, "I'll be honest with you, since you're being so honest yourself. I'm of two minds, whether I should look the other way, let you go, and do nothing."

"Boss!" the first twin cried out in protest, only to be silenced with a look.

"Or," the two-faced man continued, "I should just put two in your head right now then head over to your folks' place and show them the errors of their parenting."

"Don't you fucking dare lay a hand on them!" Tim growled as he struggled against his restraints.

"You have no choice in the matter anymore. None of us do," Two-face stated coldly. "So, let's see what the coin has to say."

"The coin?" Tim repeated.

Holding out the coin he had been holding this entire time, Two-face gave the teen an up close and personal look at it. From what he could see was an unblemished profile of what looked like George Washington though there was something off about the image. "This here was my father's lucky coin. Until it wasn't. Now, it's mine. And here is how it's going to go. Good heads, I let you go and look the other way." The unblemished side of the coin continued to face him. "Bad heads," the coin was turned to show that it had once been double-sided, another portrait of Washington on the opposing side except it was cut up and scarred, "you die here, right now. Then I'll flip again. Good heads, your folks live. Bad heads, I pay them an unfriendly visit. And before you start feeling safe, I'm going to be flipping every day until I don't need to. The day I don't need to is the day your folks go to the morgue."

"You can't be serious," Tim almost exclaimed. "You're going to decide whether you're going to kill me or not...by flipping a quarter?"

"A silver dollar, actually. That's Lady Liberty you see on the side, not Washington," the crime lord corrected.

"That's bullshit!" Tim retorted. "That's complete and utter bull!"

"Hold your tongue, kid," Two-face reprimanded, any good humor he may have been showing gone. "This bullshit is judge, jury, and executioner. You better be treating it with the proper respect."

"How about if you want to kill me, just kill me," the teen snapped. "Don't flip a goddamn coin and leave it to chance. Take control and do it already."

"And here I'm giving you a chance to get out of this alive," Two-face growled as he pulled out a pistol and pressed it against the teen's forehead. The mask the adolescent had once wore was pressed and bent around the firearm.

"How about this then; pull the fucking trigger, without flipping." Tim didn't know why he said that, or if he had some kind of deathwish he never knew he had. "Be a man and do it." Why wasn't he shutting up and taking his chances with the coin flip? This was freaking insane.

Yet there was a part of him that rejected the ridiculousness of it. Like hell he would let his life be saved by something like a fucking coin.

He continued to stare the disfigured man down, Two-face returning look for look. The crime lord adjusted his grip on his gun, as if readying himself for the big moment. Then his eyes flickered to the coin, returning to stare down the teen a second later. The standoff continued for another minute until the man's eyes flickered back to the coin.

Come on, already, stop dragging this out!

The minutes were dragging by, Two-face's men starting to fidget from the wait all the while. When was their boss going to accept the brat's challenge, they were probably wondering. Why was this taking so long?

Without taking his eyes off his abductor, Tim noticed that there was some sweat beading on the man's forehead. It was a bit odd, kinda stood out, especially since this room wasn't particularly hot. He didn't let on about his observation though, continuing to face off with the man with two faces.

"Enough of this," Two-face grumbled, abruptly pulling back. "The terms are already set. Let's see how lucky you are."

However, before he could start the flip, the doors to the room crashed open.

* * *

The doors flew open. Batman charged in with Huntress, Batgirl, and Nightwing hot on his heels.

The Half Moon Club had been one of the places he had gotten out of the goon at the Wild Deuce. As he recalled, the club had been closed for renovations, which seemed to go on forever, effectively closing the club.

And it was here he found Dent standing in the middle of the main room, a mask hanging from his hand. In front of him was Tim Drake, tied to a chair, his bruised face unmasked for all to see.

 _No…_

Everyone seemed to be frozen, from the vigilantes at the doorway to the men scattered about the room. None sat in the chairs and couches around the tables that were scattered about the room, nor were there any on the stage at the other side of the room. Both sides were at a stalemate.

"Shoot them!" Dent hollered as he pointed his pistol at the vigilantes.

Immediately, Batman had a smoke pellet in his hand before any of Dent's men could point their guns. Throwing the pellet at his feet, a cloud of smoke exploded out, covering all four vigilantes in a matter of seconds. Taking off to his left, he used the cloud as cover as he headed for a nearby couch. Behind him, Batgirl joined him, though unlike him she came to a stop as he continued to move along the side of the room.

By then, the gunmen were firing at the smoke cloud. With all of their focus in front of them, they never saw Batman darting from behind couch and chair. On the other side of the room, he caught sight of Huntress and Nightwing doing the same.

Coming to a chair that was closed to one of the gunmen, Batman stopped as he pulled out a few bat-shaped shuriken. Throwing them, he didn't bother watching them as they clashed against gun and hand, disarming two, maybe three of Dent's men. He did catch sight of a couple H-shaped shuriken—Huntress'—doing the same.

Leaping on top of the chair, Batman caught the gunman as he was turning to look at him, having seen the projectiles flying in front of his face. The Dark Knight used the chair as a springboard, launching himself forward as he reached out with one hand and grabbed onto the goon's face, the momentum carrying him forward and forcing the man backwards. The man began to fall backwards and down, Batman assisting him as he slammed the back of his head hard on the floor.

This put him next to another gunman, this one grasping hand from having his gun forcibly removed from his grasp. In one fluid moment, Batman had his grapple out and fired the claw up to the ceiling. The moment he hit the retraction button, he was launching up into the air, his free arm wrapping around the thug's chest and hauling him with him. Just before he reached the roof, he pulled his arm away from the man and let him fall back to the floor, the thug screaming before he landed on top of a couple of his friends.

As he planted his feet against the ceiling, Batman looked down in time to see Dent facing in his direction, albeit appearing upside down. He had both of his handguns out, pointing them right at the Dark Knight. Before he could fire though, a bat-shaped shuriken collided with his left hand and soon after his right, knocking his guns out of his hands as he cried out in pain.

Then Batgirl was behind him. She had come running at the dichotomous man and leaped into the air, placing her hands on his shoulders, simultaneously shoving him down to the floor as she sprung off of him. Flipping, she closed in on two of Dent's men, seeming to drift between them. At the last moment, she lashed out with both of her legs, nailing both men in their faces and dropping them to the floor.

In the meantime, Dent had fallen to a knee, looking up with rage at the young girl's antic. This distracted him from Nightwing rushing by, landing a kick to his normal face, knocking him to the ground. In one moment, he spun in a circle, ending up right in front of Tim Drake. With one of his shuriken in his hand, he slashed the ropes, freeing the boy.

Looking down, Batman saw one of Dent's men had moved to stand right beneath him. Letting go of the grapple, the vigilante allowed gravity to drop him like a stone. Extending his arms out, his hands pressed down on the man's shoulders. Due to the acceleration of his fall, the force the dark-clad man hit him caused the thug's knees to buckle and his body collapse to the floor. Going into a roll, Batman ended up on his feet, spinning around on his crouched legs and feet, cape billowing out behind him.

He was greeted with the sight of Huntress taking down one of the thugs by the stage, Batgirl closing in on another man as he was tried to point his gun at her. There were a couple of gunmen off to the left that were trying to do the same, only with more distance than Batgirl's current target.

With a pair of bat-shaped shuriken Batman sent them flying as he rushed to the two men.

* * *

"Boss! You okay?" Max asked as he crouched to the floor.

"What do you think, you idiot?" Two-Face demanded as he looked up at the twin. Someone had decided to make him a fucking piñata the last couple of minutes, pushing him around like he were some nameless punk. No one treated Harvey Two-Face that way.

"We've got to get out of here!" Min exclaimed then, standing nearby, gun in hand. "The Bat's taking us apart!"

"We're not going anywhere!" the two-faced man barked.

"I don't think we have a choice, Boss," Max replied. "Either we stay and get caught, or we get our butts out of here to fight another day."

Hmm, that sounded like something to consult with the coin. When it was put that way, he couldn't seem to wrap his brain around it. Either or, do or don't do. His brain was fixated on it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the coin, flipping it up into the air. He caught it in his hand slapped it down onto the back of his other hand. "Good heads we run, bad tails we fight," he said before uncovering the coin.

 _Good heads it is._

"Let's go," Two-Face ordered as he stood up on his feet. "Don't forget to bring the doc with us."

"What about the guys?" Max asked.

"They're on their own," he retorted. "The coin wasn't deciding for them."

* * *

The men grasped their injured hands, even as Batman closed in on them. Noticing his growing shadow, the thugs looked up just before they began to scream. Hands reaching out, Batman grabbed them by the sides of their heads and smashed their skulls against each other, dropping them to the floor in a heap.

A goon came flying by him then, crashing on top of a table and causing it to break and collapse. Pulling out another shuriken, Batman began turning around in a circle, searching for any more threats.

He caught sight of Huntress by the stage still, though the purple-clad woman was doing like he was, looking for any more of Dent's men. Batgirl was kneeling next to her latest victim, who was clearly unconscious. Further searching showed that all threats were neutralized.

Unfortunately, there was a disturbing lack of Harvey Dent.

"Huntress, take Batgirl and search the building," Batman ordered, the dark-haired woman nodding her head before she leaped onto the stage, heading for the curtains. Batgirl hurried after her, the two women disappearing behind the curtain.

Turning to face the front of the room, the Dark Knight saw Nightwing checking out Tim Drake, who had recovered his mask and was placing it back on his face. Even from the distance he stood, he could see the anxiety on the young man.

As he should be. Dent had seen his face; in fact, all of his men had seen it too. A line had been crossed tonight and Robin, it seemed, was going to be paying the price.

At least, that was assuming Dent got away. Eyeing a nearby doorway, Batman ran towards it and kicked it open, the door swinging until it slammed into the wall in the hallway. Moving through the doorway, he began his own search for the former District Attorney.

The hallway was short and made an immediate right perhaps a few paces away from the door. Making the turn, the vigilante saw a few doors on either side of the hall. Moving to the nearest one on his right, he opened it and closed it soon after—janitor's closet.

The next one was on the left side. Opening it, it became apparent it was a washroom. It was a small one too, room enough for a filthy sink and a toilet. He closed the door a moment later.

The next and last door on the right proved more fruitful. It was larger than the previous too and it had a large table and what looked to be bandages and other medical supplies. Considering many of the packages of gauze and tape were open, along with a set of tweezers, scissors, and forceps on a counter, this room was used for medical treatment.

 _Leslie…_

She had been here. He felt it in his gut. Quickly, Batman turned to look at the last door. Moving to it, he flung it open and found a dressing room. Its normal use was for the employees before they went out into the club. Because of the renovations, only the large mirrors, counters, and a few lockers where in the room.

Towards the end of the room, a white jacket hung on the back of the chair. Approaching it, Batman picked up the jacket, recognizing it as a lab coat. Faintly, his nose caught a whiff of a smell, one he immediately knew stretch from his days as a child.

This had been Leslie's coat. Whether it was the one from her clinic or one provided for her by Dent was unknown. But she used it when she was treating her patients. She had been here…

Which meant she was either close by, or already gone.

Hitting his comm link, Batman called out, "Huntress, what's your sitrep?"

" _So far nothing,"_ was her answer. _"I have a couple other places to look, but it looks like Dent slipped out on us."_

 _Damn it._ "Keep looking," he replied before he began searching the rest of the dressing room. In his gut, he knew he wouldn't find Leslie, but he couldn't make himself give up, not now, not when he had the first tangible evidence that she was still alive.

* * *

As law enforcement raided the Half Moon Club and apprehended as many of Two-face's men as they could, the vigilantes who had busted the place took up vigil on a building across the street.

For as disastrous as this night had become, at least something had come from it. At the very least two of Dent's hideouts were being taken out. However, there had been a price for it. Not only had a mob boss been successfully assassinated but one of the vigilantes had been exposed.

On top of all that, as they had broken into their enemy's hideout, who other than Tony Zucco, the man whom had reentered Nightwing's life should happen to be there as well. Before Two-face had issued his order to kill, the young adult that struggled over whether to charge after the murdering bastard or make sure that his young partner made it out alive. When that order came, everything narrowed down to "avoid getting shot" and "take out all threats."

By the time he had reached Robin's side, he had seen Zucco making his getaway and for a second he had had an overwhelming urge to chase after him. Instead, he had resisted temptation and chose to free his partner. It had been the right decision, of course it had, but it meant he gave up a chance to strike after the man responsible for the destruction of his family.

He felt both thankful for Robin's safety and ticked off that he had let a perfect chance for justice slip by.

After the revelation that he was indeed rescued, all the youthful confidence Nightwing had known Tim to possess in spades was entirely absent, panic finally taking control of him.

"They took off my mask. They took off my mask!" Tim moaned, shoulders slumped and his hands pressed against his face. Nightwing wanted nothing more than to comfort the teen, but right now this second was not the time.

Placing his hands on Tim's shoulders, he squeezed them soothingly while his voice held a no-nonsense tone. "Robin, look at me."

It took a second, but Tim lowered his hands, his eyes wavering in fear. That was not a good look for him. It made him really look like the kid he really was.

"This is really important, and I need you to answer me," he stated, maintaining eye contact without breaking it. "Did anybody recognize you? Think, then answer."

The older vigilante watched as the younger swallowed. "Two-face did. Remember that time, back when he was still Harvey Dent and he invited my parents to City Hall? I met him, talked with him, and that's where he recognized me."

God...God DAMN it! Goddamn it, no! This couldn't be happening, it wasn't!

Christ, he was losing another partner, like Barbara before. And it couldn't come at a worse time too, what with Gotham being torn to pieces. When was this nightmare ever going to end?

"So what are you going to do now?" Huntress spoke up, her arms cross in front of her. Her face was devoid of any emotion.

"I…" Tim lowered his head, Nightwing feeling the teen trembling under his hands. "...I don't know."

"That's not good enough," Huntress stated. "One of the most dangerous men in the city knows who you are. I think what you should do is pretty obvious. You need to get out, leave Gotham as soon as possible because if he knows who you are and who your parents are, he's going to be going after them. All of you."

"I...I know," Tim agreed. "He threatened as much."

"So you don't need anyone telling you what you need to do," Huntress continued.

Though he kept his head down, Tim's eyes looked up and at his older partner. "I guess it's starting to look like a good thing now. My parents are planning on moving—"

"Move. Get out of Gotham."

The deep voice that came from Batman ended any talk or possible debate.

"Alright," Tim said quietly. "Alright, I know what I have to do. But I don't know if I can convince my folks to up and leave by tomorrow. They have no idea...so they're going to stick with packing up. It may take them days to finish."

"We'll buy you time, keep Dent busy. You'll have to figure out how to speed the move up," Batman stated.

"Yeah, okay. Still, I don't how you'll be able to keep him busy, because it got weird back there," the teen rambled.

"Weird how?" Nightwing asked.

"For a bit, he was planning on killing me and also letting me go," Tim answered, a frown prominent on his face.

"That...that doesn't make any sense," Huntress stated, also frowning.

"I know," the depressed adolescent agreed. "But he literally said he was going to let me go and then changed his mind and was going to kill me and my parents. Then he held out a coin and said he was going to flip for it."

"He was going to figure out if he was going to kill you or let you go by flipping a quarter?" Huntress summed up, incredulous.

"It was a silver dollar, actually. A double-sided one where one of the sides was really scratched up. Called them good heads and bad heads instead of heads and tails," Tim continued, babbling.

Unnoticed, Batman's eyes had narrowed as he listened. "What else can you tell me about the coin?"

"Um, the year on it was 1929?" the young vigilante answered hesitantly. "Uh...well, there was something else."

"What," Batman pressed.

"There was this point he had a gun pointed at my head. At that point I had had enough and I told him to get it over with," Tim explained. Nightwing hid a wince because damn, that had been a _stupid_ idea his partner had had. "He didn't shoot though. Instead, he kept looking back at his coin, then to me, then back to the coin. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was having a problem making up his mind. He was even beginning to sweat."

"Why is it this makes less sense the more I listen?" Huntress wondered.

"It's the truth! That's what happened!" Tim protested.

"Enough," Batman cut in. To Tim, he ordered, "You, get home, get packing, get out of the city as soon as you can." To Nightwing, "You, make sure he gets home." To the others, "We'll try to find Dent's trail and track him down. We can't let him escape."

The Dark Knight said no further words as he made to match actions to words. His normal entourage left with him, leaving the two members of the Batclan to fulfill their remaining directive.

Patting Tim on his shoulders, Nightwing straightened up. "Come on. Let's go."

"I'm sorry, Dick," Tim said quietly, not making eye contact with his older partner.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," Nightwind responded, meaning it in more ways than one.

* * *

Zucco adjusted his coat as he made his way down the sidewalk. His pace was quick, purposeful, and he slowed down not once

Tonight so far had been hectic, but even then he had one more thing to do for the night.

The mobster arrived at a church, a sign on the door stating under no certain terms that the building was under renovations and closed to the public. Beside it was a large dirt lot where once a parking lot had been located. Various vehicles commonly seen in construction were parked all over the place.

Ignoring the sign, Zucco entered the building, shutting the door behind him as he strolled through the foyer and entered into the sanctuary. He passed by the wooden pews as he approached the dais up ahead, a podium laying on its side as if it had been knocked over. Above, nailed to the wall was a cross, a wooden sculpture of the Lord attached to it.

Without thinking, Zucco stopped and knelt, giving a quick prayer to the symbol of Christianity. It was an old habit from childhood that he had never been able to break.

"My, my, I never thought you were one to keep the faith, Zucco."

After tonight, Zucco couldn't be blamed for startling. Admirably, he pulled himself together and stood up, facing the man in the white suit and tie.

"Old habits. Some you can't break," he shrugged.

"I suppose there are better things to break," the white suited man replied, his voice somewhat distorted by his skull-shaped mask. "So how are things in the Dent camp?"

"They're falling apart, especially after the Batman and his flunkies raided the place," Zucco reported. "Dent's on the run. It won't be long until he's no longer a threat."

Black Mask chuckled. "Certainly good news. More importantly, he has no idea about your true allegiance, correct?"

"Of course, he's has no idea I'm working for you," the gangster answered without missing a beat. "He's been eating up everything I've given him."

"Good, good. It's not much longer until I make my move," the masked mobster said. "If anything, I would have to say that tonight couldn't have been better for me. So what if we couldn't have retrieved Thorne. That's just one less person to mess things up. Dent on the other hand has been dealt a big blow. He'll be running out of places to hide while the cops chase him down. Even better, the big bad Batman will be too busy hounding him that he won't pay us any attention."

"So how much longer do I need to string him along?" Zucco asked.

"Not much longer. In fact, I have a good feeling that tomorrow night might be more in my favor than tonight has been," Black Mask replied.

"Good," Zucco said. "I don't know how much longer I can stand to be around Dent."

"Oh? Has he been testing your nerves that much?"

Zucco shook his head. "No, it's more like I can't trust a bastard who once used to be the district attorney. I have more trust in the Sionis name to ever dream of wanting to join him."

"Then your suffering won't last much longer," Black Mask declared. "We're about to enter the endgame, and all the pieces are in place. The best part, we have them in checkmate and none of them have a clue."

* * *

Author's Note: So who expected any of that to happen? Suddenly, that little bit in _Ten Houses of Deceit_ doesn't seem like filler anymore. If I told you this was part of a plan, would you believe me? So it looks like Tim's career as a vigilante is over, but the danger is still around with worse things on the horizon. Black Mask looks like he's about to make his move at long last and that can't be a good thing. Stay tuned for this train wreck to continue because we're not anywhere near done yet. Just remember that even something that appears like it could be thrown away has some significance, even if it does lead up into anything in this story.


	21. Finding New Leads

Finding New Leads

Dawn was just breaking, but the day was far from over for Gordon. Then again, yesterday hadn't ended for him. A whole day of preparations followed by a long violent night and now, only when the sun was rising did he find any time to himself.

Last night was to have been a turning point. It should have been the end of it. With Thorne as bait, Dent would have shown up and have been captured. With the loss of its leader, Dent's syndicate would have fallen apart.

But that hadn't happened. Dent had proven much too resourceful and cunning. Not only was there untold property damage, so many police officers and SWAT injured or killed, they had also lost Thorne. The van he had been placed in had been found and the mob boss was definitely dead this time.

The only consolation was that Batman had busted two fronts Dent had. That had helped in apprehending much of his organization, but most had been grunts. No one really of importance. He would regrow while licking his wounds and come back with a vengeance, Gordon was certain of that.

Last of all was that third party that had attacked everybody. Who the hell were they with? They were much too organized to just be some glory hogs wanting a piece of the action. Other than the name Eddie Foster constantly coming up, they weren't very helpful. So he'd put up a bulletin for the patrol men to look for and bring in Foster for questioning. On that front, it was the most he could do.

However, before the commissioner could get comfortable, he had a visitor arrive.

Gordon didn't know if he should be concerned or resigned to seeing Grange come all the way down to the precinct.

"Gordon, I want some answers," the mayor stated after having one of her bodyguards close the door behind her.

"Where would you like me to start?" he asked wearily.

"I would like to know how is it we went from having a mob boss in our custody to that same mobster being sent to the morgue. I want to know what happened last night that tore up downtown. I want to know what you've been doing in these last twenty four hours that's ended in this mess," Grange listed off, not even pausing for breath.

He figured that's what she was here for.

"Last night was a trap designed specifically to lure Harvey Two-face Dent out of hiding so that he could be apprehended. The bait for this trap was none other than Rupert Thorne. We spent the day before the transport improving and updating our vehicles to handle anticipated gun violence and attacks perpetrated by our target. Unfortunately, Dent proved to be smarter than we predicted. According to an officer who had been assigned to Thorne's transport, the driver was one of Dent's men in disguise and he was able to spirit the van out of the convoy without anyone noticing, especially since we were busy trying to survive and all."

That was pretty much the story in a nutshell.

He then added, "Had our plan worked, this meeting we're having would be going a lot differently."

Grange snorted, a very unladylike thing for her to do. "It was a risky gamble, Gordon. Too bad it didn't pay off. Unofficially, that took balls. Officially, I'm now in a bind. Since your little stunt failed, and in a big way, I need to do something to address it."

Gordon nodded. He understood completely where she was coming from. Right now, last night was his blunder. He wasn't about to give her anymore details, like using the press to get the word out about Thorne's arrest. That would be digging his grave deeper at this point.

"Would you like my resignation?" the commissioner asked wryly instead.

"Hardly," the mayor retorted. "What I want is your presence."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "What for?"

"Due to last night, I am calling for an emergency meeting with the city council, law enforcement, the district attorney's office, and damn well anybody who has anything to do in our government that is of importance," Grange stated. "I want you there, because despite your mess-up, you have still been consistent in your improvements of the police department. I'll have to keep you on a short leash for a while, pretty much a dog and pony show to show everyone I'm bringing my foot down.

"This meeting is tonight, Gordon. What we're going to discuss is how we'll be taking our city back from this chaos. There's no doubt in my mind that what we will agree to will be a heavy-handed approach, martial law stands good chance of passing. I wouldn't be surprised if someone suggests bringing in the Justice League out of sheer desperation."

Gordon was unable to hide the wince he gave. Even though they had just had the League in town a while back, to call them back in to resolve an out-of-control crime syndicate was the equivalent of giving up and throwing in the towel. The League dealt with threats beyond most organization's abilities to handle. Bringing them in to handle Dent was almost like asking them to take a step down and lower themselves.

The commissioner knew they'd accept. Maybe. He was too unsure about these superpowered individuals' criteria for intervention.

It didn't change the fact that sending in the request was surrendering to Dent's might.

"We start at nine, and we last for however long it takes," Grange finished. "Don't be late, Gordon."

"I'll be there," he confirmed.

Once the mayor had left, her bodyguards in tow, Gordon slumped down in his seat, pressing his fingers against his forehead.

Goddamn it, Dent.

* * *

A dark back alley was no place for a lady. One in Gotham assured that something bad would happen.

Yet Vicki Vale was in one against her better judgement. Simon Belford, her private detective had finally come through for her. After she had discovered the missing inventory at the Wayne Enterprises warehouses, she had the P.I. search for anyone that might know something about it. Simon had struck gold when he found a truck driver who claimed to have some information about it.

It was about damn time too. Vicki felt she was paying a small fortune to the guy and was hardly getting anything for her money. Depending on if this lead went somewhere, she was either going to continue employing him, or terminating their arrangement.

Currently, she was leaning towards the latter. Did this guy have any idea just how bad an idea it was for them to meet this driver here? Every part of the reporter screamed to get out of there, though she kept a tight rein on her panic. Her mind kept wondering if there was someone else here, just waiting to snatch her up and do heinous things. All it would take was one bullet to take out Simon and she'd be helpless.

Why couldn't they have met at a restaurant instead?

"He's coming," Simon grunted then, causing the redhead to perk up. Looking out from the alleyway's mouth, a man in a jacket, jeans, and a trucker hat approached them. Entering the alley, Vicki could see the scruffy beard on the guy's face.

The man eyed her and Simon. "This the gal?" he asked, his voice rough and raspy.

"This is her," the P.I. replied. "Vale, meet Sam. Sam, this is Vicki Vale, the one interested in your drop-off."

"What do ya want to know?" Sam grunted, raising a hand to scratch his bearded cheek.

At least they were getting down to business. Pulling out the inventory lists sheets, Vicki handed them over to the driver, quick to point out the highlighted lines. "I was doing a story on Wayne Enterprises when I stumbled on these incorrect inventory numbers. After some investigation, I discovered they were flat out missing. I want to know what you know about it."

Sam stared at the pages blankly, holding them out in front of his face. "Oh, these ain't missing," he said.

Vicki's eyes sharpened. "What do you mean they're not missing?" she demanded.

"Because they never left my truck. See, when I do a drop-off, there's a select number of things I'm dropping off. I never take out more than what is wanted. That usually ends up with a couple boxes and pallets of stuff still on my truck."

"Then what about these numbers?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. Someone counted it wrong, maybe? Whatever it is, it's not my problem."

Damn it...damn it no! This wasn't happening! Her big lead, all of that work, all of it for nothing. Vicki could feel her stomach drop, a sickening feeling welling up in its place. She had done all of that legwork, all of that investigating over someone putting in a wrong number on a spreadsheet. Goddamn it all!

"What did you do with the rest of that stuff?" Simon asked then.

"What else do you think I did? I took it to the place it was supposed to go. I don't ask many questions, if you catch my drift."

"What place is that?"

"One of those old warehouses on the northeast side. It's part of the old industrial area before it moved closer to the river. Bunch of old, rotting buildings out there."

Simon looked to Vale. "I can check that place out, if you want."

 _What's the point?_ the reporter groused in her head. This was another dead end so it was pointless to bother with it.

"If you want to look at the place, it's definitely better that Simon goes," Sam said. "Used to be a bad area with gangs, at least until Batman began patrolling the area."

That got her attention. "You've seen Batman out there?" she demanded.

"Yeah, once or twice. I was leaving the place when I saw the Batmobile pull up to it. Figured he was parking so he could run around the place."

This...this was just what she needed. Maybe some moron at Wayne Enterprises accidentally made an error on the inventory numbers, but it had led to her finding an eyewitness that put the vigilante right where those boxes ended up. All she needed to do was find this place and confirm that Batman was the one taking them.

"Do you know who ordered this drop-off spot?" she then asked.

Sam reached for a pocket then, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Sure, this is the bill of lading for the entire load."

By bill of lading, the truck driver meant several. Quickly, Vale unfolded them and rifled through each and every one. Eventually, she found the one with the very small order.

And wouldn't you know it, it was authorized by Bruce Wayne.

Looking to Sam, Vicki made a request. "Do you mind if I get a copy of this?"

* * *

"...if you'll excuse me, I'm needed on the other side of the building," Lincoln March told his fellow board members, making a show of looking at his watch. "I need to talk with some division managers through a video feed and that's going to start any minute now."

"I'll make sure to have a word with Bob," Richard told him. "I don't know how long I'll be able to talk with him; we've been focusing a lot on shipping lately to make up for some of our losses. He might not be in the mood."

"All we need to do is see if he's interested," Lincoln replied. "That man has some major pull when he feels like using it."

"You better hurry up, March," Miriam advised. "I'll check on what's going on with Dithers and see if he'll be more of a problem or not."

"Thanks, Miriam," Lincoln said as he began putting some distance between the three of them. "I'll check on you two later."

Fully turning around, Lincoln wore a small smile as he swaggered through the halls of Wayne Enterprises. So far, things around here had begun turning around a bit. Much more activity to be sure, but would it pay off in the long run? He was gambling on it.

However, he didn't get too far on his way to his office.

"Mr. March?" a familiar voice called out behind him, causing the businessman to come to a stop.

Looking over his shoulder, he widened his smile as he greeted, "Lucius! Did I walk past you? Sorry, I didn't see you there."

Yes, the second most important person in this company and he hadn't seen him. Not a very good move there.

"You seem to be getting close with Miriam and Richard back there," Lucius remarked as he closed the distance between the two of them, stopping a few feet away. "Are you three working on something?"

"Just something to keep us from resting on our laurels," Lincoln answered good-naturedly. "It's good that we have the deal with Queen Industries to look forward to, but we can't put all of our eggs in one basket. We're looking for some opportunities that will ensure the company's continued survival."

Lucius hmm'ed. "Sounds like a sound strategy. If you wouldn't mind, would you run some of those opportunities by me first before you get in too deep?"

"Certainly, but right now I have video conference to get to. As soon as I get some details, I'll let you know what's up," Lincoln promised, turning away. "We have to keep that trust fund nice and fat for Bruce, don't we?"

"Indeed," Lucius nodded, watching his every step as he took off.

Lincoln could still feel the other's man gaze as he turned the corner.

* * *

It was a tough morning to attempt to stay awake. Yet, the almighty dollar was calling and Dinah couldn't quite afford to take a day off. That was why she sat behind the counter, her head propped up by her arm as her eyes remained at half-mast.

It was her late nights getting to her. Occasionally she had days she felt she was better off staying in bed. Today was different. Today was a good couple of days since she had spent what pretty much amounted to 48 hours straight of being awake. She and the Birds didn't sleep a wink while following the Animal-Bat trail back to Milo. In fact, they had spent the better part of a day in the sewers until they found him. Turning him over to the cops had taken a while too. Calling in their info and waiting for someone to pick him up had gone on forever. Manhunter hadn't stayed for that part, but Dinah, Katana, and Green Arrow had. Last she heard, the deranged scientist was in jail, awaiting his court-appointed lawyer and a hearing.

Fortunately, business was dead today. There had been one...maybe two customers all morning and Dinah was perfectly alright with that. She could keep up her power nap and not feel the least bit—

The door opened, hitting the bell above it and caused it to ring.

—guilty…

Dinah forced her heavy eyelids up. "How can I help—" she started.

And then she saw Oliver Queen sauntering up to her. "Oh, it's you," she said dully.

"Is that any way to greet a customer?" the blond said jovially. God, she hated him. How the hell could he be so perky? "One would think you were actively trying to drive business away."

"Did I forget to change the Open sign?" she asked warily. "Because if it said Closed, there's a reason for that."

"Can't imagine what that would be."

Dinah sighed before blowing some air up out of her mouth, strands of her blonde hair blowing off of her face. "Is there something you want, Queen? Otherwise, you're interrupting my nap time."

"Did we go back to last names?" the man asked with surprised. "I must have missed the memo. Is it so wrong if I wanted to stop by and chat?"

"That's what breaks are for."

"Then consider yourself on break."

She had to hand it to him, Oliver could take her snarky remarks and roll with 'em. "Fine then, I'm on break. I'm guessing you are too?"

"Haven't even started," he quipped, his eyes looking to a selection of blue flowers. "I'm actually on my way to Wayne Enterprises for a meeting. Since I had some time to kill, I thought I'd swing by, see if you had plans for lunch."

"It's a little early for lunch."

"Well, I'm not hungry enough for brunch and since we've had some problems meeting up again, I thought I'd put a request in your busy schedule."

Oh, what the hell? It wasn't like she had anything better to do. "Lunch is fine. When should I expect you to pick me up?"

"After the meeting. I'll give you a call when I'm on my way."

The two blonds smiled at each other. To be honest, Dinah was starting to look forward to something today. "So, if you don't mind my asking, how is this business thing of yours going?"

"Surprisingly well." The way Ollie had said that, it made her think he hadn't expected to get to the point he was, or maybe to get to it so soon. "Let me get you in on a little secret about Wayne: that company is a pain in the ass to negotiate with. I know, they're practically at the cutting edge of research and development, but it's an endurance trial to get the board to agree on something. You got old fossils they hate change and you got younglings trying to prove themselves. I don't know how Bruce does it, but somehow he gets them where they need to go."

"So you were expecting some in-fighting?"

"More than some actually, but there wasn't a lot of resistance as I'm used to. In fact, most of the board had jumped on it before I said a word. Bruce and that Lucius guy of his must have done a lot of ground work before I made the proposal."

"You mean Lucius Fox?" Dinah questioned. "I'm pretty sure all the credit goes to him. It's no secret that Bruce Wayne is abysmal when it comes to business negotiations."

Ollie gave her a look. "The things I could tell you. I'm sure Bruce prefers that everyone thinks Lucius does his job, but let me tell ya, I think it's an act. First time I collaborated with Bruce on something, he had me agree to a deal where he had a sixty five percent stake and I left scratching my head as to how he did it."

"You sure that wasn't Fox?"

"Fox was home, sick with the flu."

Well, this was certainly surprising. It had to be a fluke, she was sure of it. Though the way her blond friend was talking, it sounded as if Bruce Wayne had tricked him on more than one occasion. Was there really a secret genius beneath the empty-headed playboy?

...nah, that was too preposterous.

"I know, I know, it sounds strange, outlandish even, but I swear it's the truth."

"I'm sure it is," she said pleasantly.

"You don't believe me at all, do you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"A man can just tell, Pretty Bird."

A smirk appeared on her face. "I think my break is just about over."

Oliver's smile dropped. "It can't be, we're not done talking. In fact, we still need to go over…" at this he began looking to his left and right before he snatched up a nearby copy of the morning paper, "...last night's party downtown, staring the Gotham Police and a two-faced lawyer."

Oh, he was grasping at straws. Somehow, someway, the GCPD had done some serious maneuvering, capturing Rupert Thorne of all people, and then promptly losing him the next day to Harvey Dent, gangster mastermind. It wasn't the GCPD's best moment.

"I don't think what I think matters with this," she said dismissively.

"Oh come on! Everyone has an opinion." Oliver slapped the morning edition down on the counter. "Apparently there's gonna be some meeting at City Hall about it. Word is the mayor isn't too happy about it."

"Would you be if your policemen lost the highest-profile mobster they had ever caught less than twenty four hours after they caught him?"

"Of course not; hell, I think it was a bad choice by the cops to even try moving this Thorne guy right after arresting him. Or maybe just not transporting him to that higher security prison they were taking him."

"Oliver...Ollie," Dinah said, "I can tell you're really into this kind of stuff, but I'm not. A lot has to do with growing up in this city and knowing just what the police are capable of. I mean, there's a reason for all of these vigilantes."

"You mean it isn't some popular trend?" Ollie asked with feigned surprise.

"Oh, absolutely." Dinah leaned in closer. "And I have an inside scoop on that trend."

"You don't say? What is it?"

"Well, you notice how a bunch of them are women? I have it on good authority that all of them are just trying to cop a feel on Batman."

Ollie's face fell. "Right," he drawled.

"I'm serious. There's just something about a dark, mysterious man that gets a girl's blood flowing."

"Is there now?"

The blonde woman smiled. "Absolutely. I mean, if the guy was running around as Robin Hood, you'd be hearing more jokes about wanting to check his arrow."

"I hadn't heard that one before. Nicely done."

And Dinah was sure her "break" was over now. While it was fun baiting Oliver Queen, she did have to attend to her job, as boring as it was. "I have my moments. Now take your leave so you can come right back for our lunch date."

"Sure thing, Pretty Bird." Ollie even gave her a two-finger salute before turning away.

Dinah watched as the billionaire walked away, turning to give her one last goodbye once he reached the doorway. A flower display happened to obscure him a bit, but she was able to see that beard of his.

And for one fleeting moment, she felt as if she had seen it somewhere else.

The moment the door closed, Dinah frowned. Why had she thought that? Plenty of people had beards in this day and age. Yet, her gut was telling that she had seen that specific beard and on someone else. The fact a flower bloom had covered his entire upper face was telling.

It seemed she needed to keep a closer eye on Oliver Queen.

* * *

Jeremiah gave a big yawn, his body protesting from exhaustion. He really needed to stop these late nights. He couldn't recall ever feeling this tired before.

The head of the asylum would have to push past it, though. Dr. Quinzel was about to reveal the results of her latest evaluations on Strange and he was eager to receive the results. Hopefully by the end of this day, he'd have the bastard ship out to Blackgate where he belonged.

The door to his office creaked opened as the doctor herself entered, prim and proper and full of confidence. That was a promising sign there.

"Dr. Quinzel," he greeted. "Forgive me for skipping the pleasantries, but I would like to know the conclusions of your assessments."

"Certainly, Dr. Arkham," Quinzel agreed as she took a seat. She crossed her legs daintily, making herself comfortable.

Jeremiah could hardly wait.

"My preliminary work was consistent with a man that showed little signs of mental illness. Naturally, there were traits of narcissism, some grandiose thinking, nothing really to warrant an extended stay in the asylum," Quinzel began, recapping previous information.

He nodded, clasping his hands in front of himself as he waiting to hear more.

"Like yourself, I was confident that at best, we'd only have a person who was malingering, attempting to use the system to escape judicial retribution. At worse, a factitious disorder that again would not be permissible to remain here," the female doctor continued, shifting in her seat. "Recently, during a session, I noticed something a little off. To make sure, I administered another assessment, this one with an emphasis on psychosis."

"The results?" Jeremiah pressed, leaning forward in his seat.

"The results," Quinzel nodded, "were...surprising."

Jeremiah frowned. "Surprising how?"

"I got a positive on symptoms that were typical of paranoid schizophrenia. The ones that had high scores were for delusions and negative symptoms," Quinzel explained. "There's also impaired interpersonal relationships, asociality, and limited diminished emotional expression. There have also been traits of anhedonia the assessment picked up—"

"Excuse me, Dr. Quinzel, but how did you reach those conclusions?" Jeremiah interrupted, anger beginning to boil beneath his irritated surface. "That man is not schizophrenic or even psychotic. It's impossible. He's knows what he's doing."

"The assessments are saying otherwise," Quinzel shrugged her shoulders.

"The assessments are wrong; he knows how they work and how to manipulate them," he argued back. "We can't trust them because they're already compromised."

"The courts won't see it that way," the intern replied. "They're going to grasp onto the results and use them to move their dockets faster. I'm going to need more time with him, Dr. Arkham. If he truly is faking it and is fooling the tests and inventories we have, then the only other way is through intensive talk therapy. That will take time and until I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt he is a fraud, I will have to recommend he stay here in the asylum until it is proven conclusively that he is fit to stand trial."

The asylum head narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Where is this coming from, Dr. Quinzel? A few days ago, you were determined to prove that Strange is a fraud, and now you're proposing to keep him here where he does not belong." Pausing for a moment, he asked, "Did he get to you? What has he promised you?"

"I am a professional, Dr. Arkham," Quinzel refuted, looking affronted. "He has not gotten to me. I am pursuing any and all avenues to make sure I have covered everything, as I am supposed to do."

"Whatever he has offered you, do not take it," he warned, ignoring her defense. "Whatever it is, it's not worth it to be his puppet. Take it from me, he will betray you."

"I am not his puppet nor will I ever," Quinzel stated. "If I may be frank, you're the one beginning to sound paranoid. I'm going to have to ask you to step back doctor and let me do my job."

Jeremiah grounded his teeth together. Who did she think she was? It was obvious she was being used, but how he could not prove. Not when she hadn't given him anything that he could use to support his own case against Strange.

"I will take your recommendation under consideration, Dr. Quinzel. You may return to your duties," he said at last, hoping none of his irritation had leaked out.

He highly doubted he had kept it in.

Nodding, Quinzel stood up, brushed away perceived dust particles off her asylum-issued uniform and left his office, leaving the Arkham heir to his thoughts.

This was not over, he swore to himself. He was positive that Strange had managed to get to his intern, which thanks to hindsight, he realized was not such a good idea. Of course he would be able to manipulate her; he could manipulate anyone who was weak-willed.

The sad part was he couldn't say he himself was strong willed himself.

* * *

Some days it was good to be a billionaire.

For instance, when it came to interacting with a bank, the bank bent over backwards for him. If Bruce wanted to, he could've persuaded them to do some things that were questionably immoral, probably illegal. Such was the weight of his status.

Fortunately, he had no reason to ask them for something that fell in that grey area. A box full of silver dollars wasn't going to catch any regulator's attention. Having dumped the box onto a table, the young man seated himself on a stool, placed a pair of magnified goggles on his head, and got to work.

Pressing one of the silver dollars down on the table, Bruce used a knife to scratch up the tails side. The blueblood in him was crying at the damage he was doing, the investment of wealth that was going down the drain with every scratch he made. Finished with this coin, he placed it back into its box and grabbed another coin from the pile, taking the knife to it a moment later.

It was some time in the afternoon. That morning had been eventful, what with the finalizing of the Queen proposal. Both Wayne and Queen had signed on the dotted line and the R&D department was going to get a call to expect multiple contacts with Queen Industries.

Feeling accomplished, Bruce had decided to take the rest of the day off with Lucius' reluctant blessing. A quick stop at the bank later, and the young man was now in his cave, working on his little project.

Finishing up damaging the coin, he tossed it with its friends in the box, grabbing another. There was still more work to do with his night job though. Leslie was still out in the cold with Harvey Dent, something that galled him to no end. However, with the lack of leads present, he couldn't go galvanizing through Gotham and hope to get lucky.

No, there was something else he could do. Currently the supercomputer was analyzing the dirt he had obtained at the debacle downtown. Eddie Foster's group was also out there, and unlike Dent, he had something to go on.

In fact, an alert rang out, causing the dark-haired man to look to the computer. A window had popped up with the results on the dirt analysis. Fortunately the letters and numbers were large enough that he could read them from his workbench.

 _Hmmm, that's a unique soil composition._ Stopping his work on the silver dollars, Bruce stood up and walked to the computer. The dirt wasn't actually dirt if he was reading this right. It was more like powder residue that was left over from a rock or stone being broken. The mineral composite was also unique considering the stone used wasn't popular in today's architecture.

Which stone was part of an old building. "Computer: identify buildings in Old Gotham that are comprised of this mineral," he ordered.

The supercomputer immediately went into action, performing the command. A few moments later and a map of Gotham appeared on screen. It then focused onto the section of the city known as Old Gotham, dots appearing throughout the sector. Eyeing each dot, Bruce mentally eliminated them, his eyes darting from one dot to another.

Soon, there were only three left that he considered to be suspect locations. One of the criteria he had was that the location needed access to a construction site of some sort. Each of his three points either had a construction site next to it, or were the site itself. Add in the time needed to round up a bunch of men to take vehicles and drive them downtown, and these were the only three possibles.

Next, Bruce eliminated one of those possibles, leaving him with two. The reason for this was because said building was being demolished. While that left the construction equipment there, it was unlikely anyone was returning there.

Glancing back and forth between his last two possibles, Bruce knew he was going to have to investigate both. One was an old office building, which was currently empty. Next to it, however, construction was on the way with building—what else—a new office building.

The other was the Gotham Cathedral. It was under renovation last he heard, so that would account for the construction there. Of these two locations, both were prime places for hideouts. If Eddie Foster was at one of them, Bruce would find him, and unlike the men downtown, Foster would squeal.


	22. A New Complication

A New Complication

As the city continued to reel from the events of the previous night, there would be no rest for the wicked. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Black Mask had called in everyone, bringing together his crew of loyal subordinates. It had taken time to gather such a group, discretion and a preference for quality over quantity had slowed things down. But in the end, the masked crime boss was certain that it was all worth it.

This was the perfect time to let everyone know he was back and he was going to be coming out swinging.

"I bet you all are wondering what I've been up to," he began, taking in the sight of motley crew. "What have all these deals and shipments have been for. Why I've called you here tonight. Well, wonder no longer, for now I shall explain."

The group of suited and trenchcoat-wearing men shifted their weight, eager to get on with this.

"Gentlemen," Black Mask continued as he reached out to grasp a white sheet, one that had been placed strategically over the object of his big unveiling, "I give you the key to our domination of Gotham."

He yanked the white sheet off a metallic-grey cube, a small digital display and keyboard set in its front. It was about two feet high and wide, but it was anything but light. There was some confusion from the men, not that he hadn't expected such a reaction.

"What is it?" one of the gangsters asked at least.

"This, simply put, is a bomb," he declared.

Black Mask had expected silence after that announcement, his amusement growing as some of the men subtly shifted away from the device.

"You're saying that this whole time you were building a bomb?" Eddie questioned, being the first one to speak.

"Not any ordinary bomb," he replied swiftly. "All those chemicals I've been bringing in tend to be unstable when mixed together, and by unstable I mean very big explosions. Some of them on the other hand mix very well, and when they do they create a very deadly, toxic, and radioactive compound, the kind that you don't want to be breathing in. Put it all together and you have what is called a dirty bomb."

Some more moving away, which only fed to the masked man's pleasure. They were all definitely nervous now.

"So what do you plan to do with it?" Ah, now there was a reasonable question. And from Mitch over there. The tall man barely showed any sign of intimidation from these revelations.

"Why, I plan to use it," he answered simply.

"That's nuts!" Eddie cried out.

"No, it's drawing a line and crossing it," he corrected. "We need to show this city that we are more than willing to tear it a new one, and nothing terrorizes a bunch of spineless city dwellers than good ol' terrorism. Once they know what you're capable of, and you make the threat to do it again, they'll become very willing sheeple to your every demand."

"But wouldn't that mean you could make another one?" Mitch asked.

"You're a smart one, Mitch. And yes, I do. It'll take a little time to build, but the panic this one here," he placed his hand on top of the cube-shaped bomb, "will cause will buy us more than enough time to make it."

"So what's the plan?" someone asked.

Now these were the questions he was wanting.

"If you've been paying attention to the news, you know that Dent has twisted some tits lately. Enough that our mayor is calling in a very special meeting with every elected and unelected official in our local government. Only an idiot would wonder what it's about, but we all know. They're going to try and come up with some way to end Dent's crime spree. What better opportunity to not only show up Dent, but also blow the people supposedly running this joint sky high. It doubles as a way to get rid of any and all leadership, making it all the easier for us to step in."

"But isn't that place going to have security up the wazoo? I mean, they're not going to let anybody walk in there, and I don't think we can hide that bomb from them."

"Already taken care of," he dismissed the concern. "Remember a while ago, we all thought that the Court of Owls was some urban legend, didn't really exist? Then it turns out they did. So that got me thinking. If the Court was real, what else was?

"I recalled that there's this story that there's some kind of secret passage in City Hall, one that was put in when the place was first built. The bigwigs back then wanted a quick way to get out in case the little people got too pissed off at them and tried to go after them with pitchforks and torches. Allegedly, this passage went into the sewers, letting them slip right under any mob's feet and no one would know."

"Are you saying that passage exists?" Eddie spoke up once more.

"Oh, it exists," growled out Mr. Jones who stepped out and took his place in front of the crew. "It took me a while, but I found it. Figured I'd use it one day to run a job on the place but things got crazy when that clown showed up."

"Mr. Jones did remember it, told me about it, and now we're going to use it to run this job," Black Mask stated, leaning forward slightly. "You're going to move my little baby here and sneak it into City Hall. Once you get it set up, you leave the way you came. Oh, and be sure that you put some distance between you and the bomb, a mile should be good. You're going to use this," he removed a small device from his coat pocket and held it up, "to detonate it. This thing has a three mile radius so you can get where it's nice and safe before you hit the button. After that, enjoy the fireworks."

"Any questions?" Mr. Jones asked, leering at the men.

Black Mask waited patiently for any. Apparently he had answered them all.

"You all have ten minutes to get ready," he announced. "Then Mr. Jones is going to lead you all to glory. This will be it, boys, so bring your A-games and show everyone why you're the best."

Black Mask then turned his attention back to his latest masterpiece, gazing down on it fondly. He rubbed his hand on its top, stroking the metal container as if it were his only child. Distantly he heard the men behind him murmuring, talking to themselves. Distinctly, he heard ol' Eddie say he was going outside for a smoke.

Yeah, let them all take a smoke, get some nicotine in them. They were going to need all the edge they could get to pull this off without a hitch.

"Soon," he told the explosive device, "you're going to make me a king of this city. Make me proud."

* * *

The Gotham Cathedral was nearly as old as the city itself. When the first settlers arrived, they had commissioned the cathedral as one of their first acts. Records showed it took nearly ten years to complete, but that construction has lasted it over two centuries.

However, because it was so old, renovations and restoration projects were routinely scheduled every so often. Now was just such a time. Scaffolding masked the building's exterior, covering its face and parts of its sides.

Situated on a nearby building, Batman watched the place like a hawk.

This was one of his possible locations for Eddie Foster's gang. He had gotten here a couple minutes ago and began a stake out. So far, he had seen little traffic around the church with the exception of a man standing in front of it, back facing the vigilante's position. There were no signs of any construction workers and even if they were, it was too late in the night for them to be working.

And then, lo and behold, the man loitering in front of the cathedral turned around, flicking away spent cigarette. Though the fedora hat covered much of his head, Batman was able to use the lens in his cowl to zoom in on the man's face.

Bingo, Eddie Foster. Just the man he wanted to see.

Pulling out his grapple gun and a bola, the vigilante removed the grapple hook from the cable and placed it back in his belt. With the cable, he tied it to the bola, tugging on both ends to make sure the connection was secure. Once he was positive they were linked, he attached the grapple gun to his belt and took hold of the bola.

Then he leapt off the building, grabbing his cape as the electrical current flowed through his gauntlet. His cape went into its glider mode and he soared towards the cathedral. He made sure to go at an angle where he wasn't visible to Foster; he needed the element of surprise.

As he closed in on his target, Batman lowered his bola-holding hand and began to rotate his wrist and lower arm. The bola began to spin until it was a circular blur. Then with a jerk of his arm, he sent the bola flying towards Foster, the dark-clad man coming to land on the scaffolding.

Looking down, he was just in time to see the bola wrap around Foster's body, pinning his arms to his sides as the man yelped. Quickly, Batman pulled out the grapple gun and moved it around the corner post of the scaffolding. Now that he had the grapple on the front side of the scaffolding, he then pulled it over a set of crisscrossing bars. He then hit the retraction button.

Down below, Foster's balance was thrown off from the sudden pull of the cable, causing him to fall onto the ground. He didn't stay there long before he was yanked upside down and pulled up through the air. Foster screamed the whole way until he came to a sudden stop, Batman staring right at his upside down face.

Immediately, the Dark Knight grabbed a fistful of the punk's shirt. "Long time, no see, Foster," he greeted him.

"Holy shit!" Foster shouted right before Batman let go of his shirt and then clamped his hand over his mouth.

"That's enough of that. I have a few questions for you and you will answer them. If you don't, your next scream will be because I let you drop the five stories to the pavement. Understand?"

Foster nodded his head frantically. "Good, now tell me who you're working for."

Once he removed his hand, his captive didn't waste a single moment in answering him. "It's Black Mask."

Immediately, Batman put his face right in front of Foster. "Sionis is back?" he demanded, ignoring how his blood ran cold at the revelation.

"Yeah, it's definitely him. He recruited me a couple weeks back. Said we were going to make a killing. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Batman's eyes narrowed. That "killing" part had too many meanings, especially with Sionis. One could be they'd rob Gotham blind; another was that they would kill a lot of people. Considering Sionis' men had crashed the Thorne convoy last night, it was most likely the latter. The Dark Knight nearly hit himself over the head with the obvious uses of masks those men wore. The False Face Society was back in action.

Except...why wasn't Foster wearing a mask? He hadn't at the quarry, along with the rest of his men. In fact, last night was the first uses of masks. That didn't match with the False Face Society's _modus operandi_.

"What were you doing here? At the Cathedral," he then questioned.

"We were just ending a meeting. Black Mask is…" the man trailed off.

"He's what?"

"I...I can't say. He'd kill me."

"He can't kill you if I let you drop."

Foster looked down to the ground so far down. He then looked to the vigilante, then back again. "If I tell you, can you protect me?" he asked.

"That depends on what you tell me."

Foster swallowed nervously. "The boss has a plan, something to do with City Hall."

Alarms were going off in the dark-clad man's head. "What is he doing?"

"You know all of those chemicals we was buying? I'm sure you know since you've been following us. Well, he made a bomb out of them and—"

Batman didn't need to hear anymore. A sinking feeling welled up inside of his gut as he realized Sionis had made a chemical weapon. And what was worse was that there was no doubt in his mind that the madman would use it. Then a realization hit him harder than any punk had since he began fighting crime.

Mayor Grange was calling for an emergency meeting at City Hall.

Grabbing Foster by the coat, he hauled the man onto the scaffolding, dropping him on the wooden planks. Pulling out one of his shuriken, he then cut the bola at several places along its cords. "Are they still here?" he demanded.

Foster shook his head. "Nah, man. We were loading up before I came out for a smoke. They've got to be long gone by now."

 _Damn it._

Disconnecting the current cable in his grapple, he placed a new one in with a grapple hook. Firing it a building, he went flying through the air, heading towards City Hall.

The moment he landed on the building, he was activating his comm link, though it wasn't to contact his usual help. "Gordon office," he commanded, hearing the familiar sound of telephone rings in his cowl. All the while he was running across the rooftop, leaping over an alleyway, and landing on another building.

By the time he reached the other side, an answering machine started, causing him to curse. "Stop call," he commanded even as he fired his grapple again, and swung out into the air. "Gordon cell," he then said.

This time, he received a much faster response, even if it wasn't one he wanted. _"We're sorry. This number is no longer available. Please hang up and dial the correct number."_

Feet touching down on the side of a building, he then shot up it as he hit the grapple's retraction button. "Redial!" he roared as he reached the top.

Again, he received the same message. _"We're sorry. This number is no longer available. Please hang up and dial the correct number."_

 _No. No!_ Damn it all, what was going on? Why couldn't he get a hold of Gordon? If there was one person he could trust to evacuate City Hall, it was him. Usually the man had some way to get a hold of him. Why wasn't it working?!

Slowing to a stop, Batman stood close to the edge of the tall building he was on. His options for avoiding tonight's impending disaster were shrinking rapidly. If only he could get in touch with Gordon. If only he knew of another way, knew someone that could…

Wait, he did know someone.

It wasn't his first choice; hell, it wasn't his last choice, but there wasn't a choice in the matter. If there was someone that could get a hold of Gordon, it would be his daughter.

A daughter who could get access to every communication device in the city.

Switching frequencies, he then said, "Oracle, come in."

There was a long pause. "Oracle, come in," he repeated.

Again, another pause, but this time, just before he was about to call again, he received an answer. _"This...this is Oracle,"_ he heard the computerized voice stutter.

"This is Batman, I need your help."

" _Sure, anything. What is it?"_ the girl responded quickly.

"I need you to get in touch with Commissioner Gordon. There's a dirty bomb being placed at City Hall for the mayor's emergency meeting. I can't get a hold of him, so I need you to do it. We need to evacuate City Hall."

There was silence before he heard Oracle say, _"I can do that. Is there anything else I can do?"_

"Get in touch with everyone else. Nightwing, the Birds of Prey, everyone. I don't want anyone going to City Hall. If this thing goes bad, I don't want anyone else caught up in it. Do you understand me?"

" _I...I understand. Consider it done."_

Well, at least there was someone in this city that followed his instructions, Batgirl not included. Speaking of which, he needed to contact her and ground her before she followed after him.

Switching frequencies, Batman leaped off the building, activating his cape glider mode. He had a couple more calls to make himself.

* * *

Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. While Barbara hadn't expected Batman's voice to filter through her speakers, that didn't stop her from answering. She should have known that Batman would have known how to reach her, and he probably knew that it was her behind Oracle's digital face.

The information he had shared with her, though, that got her heartbeat racing.

She knew what a dirty bomb was, a bomb that had the power to disperse radioactive materials with the purpose of contaminating the area. It was bad news all around, and the fact someone in this city had one and was planning to use it…

The first number she contacted was her father's. He was heading to or was already at City Hall, meaning he was in grave danger. It also had the benefit of him clearing the building quickly, potentially saving lives should that bomb go off.

" _We're sorry. This number is no longer available. Please hang up and dial the correct number."_

What? But this was the correct number!

" _We're sorry. This number is no longer available. Please hang up and dial the correct number."_

Okay, something was up, but she could think this one through. This also answered an unasked question, why Batman hadn't tried contacting her father. It was because he couldn't reach him. That message was most likely the reason why. So, why would the message come up?

It was either because the signal wasn't reaching the phone, meaning her father was in a dead zone, which by the way reminded her of that time she couldn't contact Nightwing and Robin the other night. Fingers tapped on the keyboard, hacking her into the phone provider her father used. Time to send a signal of her own through the cell towers; that at the very least would give her his current location.

Oh no, the phone wasn't picking up her signal. She was starting to enter fight or flight mode, and she struggled to remain calm.

Okay, so what other reasons could there be to explain this? The phone could be turned off, which was unheard of since this man was the police commissioner. Another reason. Hmm...could the battery be dead? If it was, the phone would be off anyway, and if her father hadn't been paying attention to the battery life, that could be a reason.

After last night, he would definitely be distracted enough not to pay attention to it.

So she needed to find a way to find him.

Immediately, she contacted the department herself, and asked to be connected with her stepmother. A couple minutes later, she had the information she needed. Her father had left only a few minutes ago to head downtown, the destination obvious to the computer hacker.

That meant he wasn't too far away from the precinct. Hopefully. As she began access the transportation system and the traffic cams, she began searching for any sign of one of the men she held dear to her heart.

Where was he? Where was he? There? No, definitely not. That one there? No. Hold on a sec. She moved up a few streets, constantly scanning for any sign of—there!

There he was and he was driving. Okay, okay, time to think fast. He wasn't in a dead area and the phone wasn't picking up any signal. Since contacting him was out of the question, what could she do that would keep him alive? Traffic was light right now, so it wouldn't take him more than ten minutes to reach City Hall.

But what if she could extend that time? Slow him down so that it took him two hours instead? And lucky her, she had the means to do it. Not only did she have access to Gotham's transportation system, she had the ability to manipulate it as well.

Never in her life had she ever believed she would be the one to cause a traffic jam.

"Sorry about this, Daddy," she apologized as she seized control of all the traffic lights in and around the downtown area. Red was going to be a very familiar color if you were heading that direction, and already she could see the lines of cars starting to lengthen. Naturally, any cars heading away from City Hall were given preferred status and allowed to get far away.

Until she could come up with something else, she'd have to dog her dad's every step to make sure he did not get to that meeting. In the meantime, she had other vigilantes to call.

* * *

"Huh, fancy running into you here. What's a gal like you doing in a place like this?"

Black Canary turned to face the source of the complement. Normally she would've rolled her eyes at such a platitude, but her mind was elsewhere. Approaching her was Green Arrow, a charming smile on his face.

A smile she completely ignored. Instead she was staring down the beard and mustache, which she was getting a pretty good idea of déjà vu. Couple that with the blond hair and Canary was damn certain that she knew the man behind the green domino mask.

Still, she couldn't act strange about this, not if she wanted to keep her own identity. So she said, "Considering we were supposed to meet here, it shouldn't be so surprising."

"What? Did I forget to bring flowers? Sorry about that."

The blonde woman shook her head, a smile appearing on her face in spite of herself. "You know, I figured you'd be gone after we caught Milo. He's currently wasting away in one of the GCPD's fine jail cells."

"What can I say, I like to make sure I clean up the messes I make," Green Arrow replied. "And so far, everything's been nice and neat."

"Which brings me to ask why you're still here."

"Perhaps I wanted to make sure you and those friends of yours are okay. We did spend an awful lot of time together in the sewers. Gotta say, I've been in better ones."

"Everyone's fine," Canary answered. "Nothing some sleep won't cure; I know I've been taking some power naps."

"Heh, so you did managed to squeeze in some beauty sleep."

"That _is_ what breaks are for."

There was a moment's hesitation by Green Arrow, something Black Canary was quick to notice. But then it was gone as the archer said, "Good thing you could fit one into your busy schedule. I take it you don't want to see my handsome mug around here?"

This time the blonde woman did roll her eyes. God, this guy was incorrigible. If she had any doubts as to his real identity, then they were extinguished.

Of course, that was when the comm link in her ear went off.

" _Black Canary? Are you there?"_

Canary frowned before she raised a hand up to her ear. This in turn caused Green Arrow to frown as well. "Who is this?" she asked. "How did you get this frequency?"

" _This is Oracle,"_ came the computerized voice, which explained everything actually. _"I'm getting in touch with everyone and you were next on my list. Batman found out there's a dirty bomb being planted at City Hall and—"_

"There's a what?!" Black Canary interrupted, turning to face away from Green Arrow. It was more of an instinct rather than on purpose. "You said a dirty bomb, right?"

" _That's correct. And Batman wants me to tell everyone to steer clear of City Hall. He was very specific about the Batclan and Birds of Prey."_

"So he's taking Huntress and Batgirl with him?"

" _As far as I can tell, no. I already contacted Huntress and she was busy with something else. I imagine Batman's telling Batgirl to stay out of this too."_

Oh, Black Canary knew what Huntress' other business was. She had a stack of papers from her students she needed to grade and this, incidentally, was the night she took off to get through as much of them as possible. That at least kept her out of this situation.

" _I'll be contacting your partners next, unless you want to do it,"_ Oracle continued.

The blonde vigilante bit her lip. Part of her was okay with Oracle doing that errand, but another, much stronger, part of her wanted her to belay that. No doubt Batman was on his way to City Hall to stop this, but what if there was an army of thugs there to stop him? He was going to need back up and the more hands there were the better.

She ended up replying, "Roger that, consider me informed."

" _Oracle, out."_

"Something's up," were the first words Canary heard, causing her to turn around to face Green Arrow. "What is it?"

Well, there was no point in hiding it considering Batman wanted everyone to know. "Just got word there's a dirty bomb at City Hall," she told him, the green archer's mouth dropping open in shock. "Batman's telling everyone to stay clear while he handles it."

"Is he really that much of a glory hound?" Green Arrow demanded. "No way, that's too big of a situation for me to ignore. I don't know about you, but I'm going."

Black Canary raised an eyebrow. "You've got some balls on you."

"That's about all I got most nights. Care to join me?"

Again, another smile appeared on her face in spite of herself. "Consider it a date."

* * *

After saying outloud what his boss was planning, Eddie Foster knew that he couldn't go through with this. As much as Black Mask claimed that blowing City Hall sky high would make them kings, Eddie couldn't see how they got from point A to point B based on all the information he had been given.

This was a bad idea, a horrible idea, and he kinda had to thank Batman for helping him realize this.

No one was going to bat an eye if they didn't see him; he was known for valuing his own skin too much and always being conveniently away with shit went down. It didn't take a genius, though, to figure out that all fingers would be pointing at him once Batman showed up and put a stop to the whole thing.

Black Mask was not someone you wanted pissed off at you. The Sionis temper was legendary, and it made him shudder just thinking about it. He was going to need protection, and since Batman had upped and left him, he needed to find it elsewhere.

There was only one person he could go to that could do that, the one person Black Mask had been tiptoeing around this whole time.

So he had made a couple calls. He had a cousin or two who owed him a couple favors. Someone had to know what he himself needed to know. When properly motivated, Eddie could work a miracle if he had to.

A coin flipped up in the air and was caught casually by a hand.

"You're saying you know what Black Mask's endgame is, hmm," Two-face commented, neither of his eyes leaving him.

"I can tell you everything, where he is, what he's up to, who's working for him," Eddie offered. "I need your protection. You're the only one in this city that I can trust to protect me."

"The only people I protect in this city are the ones who pass my test," Two-face replied, the twins who had placed themselves on either side of him smirking at the gangster. "Tell you what, tell me about what Black Mask is up to, and I'll let you take my test." The crime lord's left eye gave a look at the coin he held briefly before returning to Eddie. "Then we'll see about what you can offer me."


	23. The Underbelly of City Hall

The Underbelly of City Hall

The mayor checked her watch, noting that it was five after nine. Not surprising, even though this meeting was scheduled for nine on the dot. It was custom to start any sort of meeting several minutes after the scheduled time as it not only allowed stragglers to reach their seats, but also the person leading the meeting, i.e. her, time to collect her thoughts and get ready to begin.

With the current crisis the city was facing, custom was not going to cut it for her, not this time. She fully expected everyone to be here so they could get down to business.

Should she really have expected anything different? So far, she had about four, maybe five unaccounted for. It was irritating, to be honest. She contacted each and every individual personally to inform them about this and stressed the fact that being late was not an option.

Of all of them, she had expected Gordon to have been here early. Or on time at the very least. She was also somewhat surprised that their interim district attorney, Kate Spencer, was also absent. It seemed like all her expectations for tonight were being violated in one form or another.

So be it then, they were starting regardless if they had everyone or not. The stragglers would have to be caught up then. Afterwards, she was going to have a very private talk with all of them. This was completely inexcusable and she would tolerate it no more.

"Close the doors," Grange instructed her staff. "I want us sealed in and no one leaves until we're finished. If anyone shows up, let them in, but only if they're supposed to be here."

With that, she took her place at the large, circular table placed in a very large conference room. Coolly, she gazed out at the room, observing the men and women gathered here today. They all had a pretty good idea about why they were here and what they were going to do. Whatever they ended up deciding, it would have ramifications that would last for years if not decades.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, directing all attention towards herself. "I've called you all here because our city is suffering. It is being torn apart and nothing that we have done has resolved it. Each and every day that comes are worse than the ones that came before. This cannot go on.

"I've called this meeting so that we come up with a plan on how we're going to fix this. How we're going to end this crisis once and for all. From and each and every one of you I expect ideas and strategies that can be implemented to save not only our city but the people with whom we are entrusted to protect. They are desperate for this to be over with, and I agree with them.

"So we're going to look at every option we have available. I want every possibility explored. I want the very charter that our city was based on be examined, every law no matter how obscure it is looked into, even every city ordinance that remains in effect considered. The sole purpose of this meeting is to discuss the end to Harvey Dent's reign of terror and I don't care if some lawyer cries foul over it. We need to take control of our city, starting now."

* * *

Water sloshed around a multitude of legs as the group of mobsters and gangsters trekked through the sewers of Gotham, carrying their very dangerous and lethal payload to its final destination. Flashlights lit up their way through the dark and murky tunnels, many of the suited men wearing air filters or doing their best to hold their breath so as to not gag on the foul air.

Their leader, the trenchcoat-wearing Mr. Jones, showed no signs he was affected by the stench all around them as he took point and led the group. How this man knew his way down here was anyone's guess, though no one was about to ask that question aloud.

Sometimes it was best to not know.

The tall, fedora-wearing man looked over his shoulder at the motley crew behind him then ordered, "Hurry it up back there. That meeting ain't gonna go on forever."

Easy for him to say; he wasn't carrying a bomb that the moment they disrespected it, it would kill them. Though it barely came up to their knees, the bomb was anything but light. Earlier the men had attempted to use a dolly to drag the thing, but thanks to the water down here that became too much of a chore. They had to ditch the wheels in favor of their own muscles. At the moment, six men were using a combination of arms and shoulders to heft the bomb up in the air, carrying it that way to pick up their speed.

Someone grumbled, "How much further is it?" That someone expected not to be heard.

Mr. Jones heard him as clear as day.

"Not that much further, you pansy," the giant of a man growled back. Gesturing forward, he said, "We need to take a left up here and then we're golden."

The implication that they would be getting out of this place was enough to energize the men to the point they were picking up the pace. Being down here was not in their job descriptions. To think that men of their caliber and reputations would be mucking it up down in the place where people's piss and shit went…

The foretold left turn came and down they went, taking the turn. They were almost out of this. Soon a reprieve of fresh air would greet them and they could get down to business setting this bomb up and then getting the hell out of dodge.

Their patience and endurance was soon rewarded as Mr. Jones brought them to a stop. They had reached their destination at last.

"That's different," Mr. Jones muttered, the acoustics of the tunnel raising the volume of his gravelly voice so that they all heard him.

Curiously, one suited man peeked around his larger superior, hoping to see what it was that had brought out such an unusual comment from the large man. Several feet ahead there was a brick wall, nothing really of note to say about it. Looked like the rest of the walls that made up the old sewer system. However, there was a piece of paper that was taped to a segment of the wall, large letters made in crayon written on it.

The curious man narrowed his eyes as he shined his flashlight on it, trying to read it.

JoKeR'S SeCReT PaSSaGe

Do NoT eNTeR

There was even a smiley face drawn on it.

The flashlight began to tremble at the sight of it. Apparently their mythical, secret passage was not so secret. Someone else had found it and used it, it seemed.

For years, people had wondered how the Joker had managed to take over City Hall without anyone finding out before and during the fact. Looked like this was the answer; he had used the same passageway as they were. Word of this soon spread to the other men who became very skittish.

If someone like that mad clown knew about this and had used it before, it was obvious he had also booty trapped it. No one here thought that madman was above it.

"So how do we get in?" someone asked after moments of silence and standing around holding a bomb more dangerous than all of them put together. "It's probably rigged."

"You're right," Mr. Jones grunted in agreement, suddenly grabbing the curious man beside him and shoving him forward. "You open it."

"What? Me!" the former curious man exclaimed.

"Yeah, we need somebody willing to take one for the team," Mr. Jones explained. "Since I'm in charge, I'm electing you. Unless somebody else wants to do it?"

There were a bunch of nos and refusal, a sudden unanimous consensus that their unlucky "volunteer" was the perfect candidate for the task.

"But I don't even know how to open it!" the poor man protested.

"It's simple," Mr. Jones said as he took a step forward, pushing his selected victim forward and closer to the wall. "You see this?" The large man directed the much smaller man's attention to a specific brick. There wasn't much to say about it except if you looked close enough, you could make out a small, circular indent in the manufactured stone. A closer look revealed the tiny carving of an owl inlaid in the small depression. "There's three of them like that. You press all three of them and the door opens. Simple, eh?"

Mr. Jones backed off, leaving the volunteered man to tremble at what seemed like certain death. The taped sign taunted him that something horrible was on the other side. It didn't help that there was something behind him that was just as horrible and it was the leader of this expedition. Damned if he opened this door, damned if he didn't.

Sending up a prayer to whoever was watching over him, the volunteer reached a shaky hand out and pressed in the first brick, the very one that Mr. Jones had singled out. He had to search for the second, then the third. One by one, he found each one, though his reluctance was at an all time high as he placed his fingers against the third brick.

"What's taking so long? Get on with it already," Mr. Jones ordered.

Swallowing, the damned man pressed down on the third and final brick, and held his breath as the section of the wall in front of him moved back. Nothing else happened as he stood there, waiting for something, anything to happen.

"Slide it," Mr. Jones growled.

With trembling hands, the somehow still-breathing man dug his fingers into the small gaps in the brickwork, wondering if he had the strength to do as his superior had ordered. At the point-of-no-return, he did as instructed and much to his surprise, the wall slid to his left to reveal the entrance to this mythical passage.

Of which a small machine gun turret was placed directly in the middle of it, a sign taped to it that said: CaN'T You ReaD?

The turret didn't fire a single shot, continuing to stand there motionlessly. The seconds just ticked by, and the unfortunate, or fortunate, man realized that yes, he was still alive. Even after feeling his body for bullet holes that weren't there, he was still breathing and whole.

"Heh. Looks like he forgot to rig it," Mr. Jones commented, a hint of relief coloring his voice. It was odd coming from this monster of a man, but it was a moment than humanized him if only for a second. "Alright, look alive. We're here, let's finish this job."

Taking the lead, Mr. Jones led the group of men who were eager to get out of this place into the underbelly of the city's government. Phase one of this operation was complete. Now for phase two.

* * *

The wind blew by Batman as he glided through the air. City Hall was right in front of him and he angled his glider to move around the building. Eyeing a window, Batman began closing in on it.

At the last moment, he leaned backwards and swung his legs forward. The glass shattered upon impact and he was in.

His feet also slammed right into the face of an unsuspecting thug.

The man was flung backwards, collapsing to the floor. Leaning forward, Batman went into a roll, ending up on his feet in front of two more goons. Thrusting both of his fists in front of him, he rammed them right into their stomachs, doubling them over. Rising up, he then moved his hands up, pressing them against the sides of their heads. With as much force as he could muster, he then cracked their skulls against each other, dropping them to the floor in heaps.

Well, there was no doubt Sionis' men were here.

Most likely, the others had heard the shattering of the window, so there was no point in going in discrete. Looking to his left, then his right, Batman scanned the hallway he found himself in, multiple doorways open. Striding down the corridor, he glanced into each room, passing the ones that were clearly open.

However, he found one that had two goons, both of him looked startled at his appearance. Raising his grapple gun up, he fired it at the thug furthest away, the claw attaching itself to its target. Stepping forward, the vigilante grabbed the cable and pulled on it as hard as he could, causing the man to fly towards him, colliding with his friend, which knocked him to a side.

Dropping the grapple, Batman made a fist and swung it forward, slamming it into the man's face. His foe's upper body stopped in mid-air while his lower body kept moving, causing him to go flipping behind the Dark Knight until he crashed to the ground.

By then, the last guy was starting to get his bearings. Immediately, Batman was on him, delivering a powerful blow to the side of his face, knocking his head to one side. He followed it up with another punch, snapping his head back the other way. Next, he then shot his hand up to the man's face, latching onto it, and forced his head to slam against the wall, a loud _BANG!_ ringing out.

And that was it for him.

Turning away, Batman returned to the hallway, being sure to pick up his fallen grapple gun. So far, he had come across two patrols, but no bomb. He wasn't happy about that. Perhaps he should've left one of the men awake so that he could get that information. Maybe next time.

Then again, if he were to place a bomb, he would put it in the one place that was sure to do the most damage. Considering the city's most powerful and influential people were in one room, it would be best to place the bomb right beneath them. The blast would destroy the floor, killing most of them, and anyone who survived the initial explosion would be dropped into the inferno below.

This wasn't the first time he had been in City Hall, in costume, or suit. The room Mayor Grange gathered everyone was in the main conference room. If Batman recalled, there was a smaller room below it—that's where he'd put the bomb. Walking down the corridor, the dark-clad man found a passage to his right and took it. He needed to avoid the main lobby since that was out of his way, not to mention a natural gathering point for Sionis' men, or Grange's security.

However, as he reached the halfway point of the hall, one of Sionis' men appeared at the end, a machine gun in hand. The man froze the moment he caught sight of the vigilante, something that cost him dear. Immediately, Batman sent a bat-shaped shuriken flying, the projectile colliding with the gun as the goon raised it to aim at him. A cry of surprise came from him as he was disarmed.

Batman rushed down the hall, attempting to close the distance between them and end this skirmish. However, it seemed this man was able to recover faster than expected, drawing out a large knife. Slowing down, the vigilante held his hands in front of him, shifting himself into a defensive stance as his opponent came at him.

With a yell, the man sliced his knife at him, Batman backing up a step to avoid it. He backed up again to dodge the backswing, then raised his forearm up, the short blade banging against it as the man cut at him again. As his opponent stopped in his advancement, his knife arm bouncing back, the Dark Knight lunged forward. Grabbing the man by his shirt, he swung him to the left and into the wall, then to the right and into that wall as well. Leaning his head back, he then swung it forward, headbutting the thug, who in turn bashed the back of his skull against the wall, going unconscious in an instant.

That's when he heard it. Up ahead, he could hear sounds, ones that belonged to a scuffle. Frowning, Batman marched to the end of the hall, peeking around the corner when he reached it. He saw nothing to the left nor the right, but he did see a door open further down the right hall. Approaching it, he came to an immediate stop when a thug came flying through the open doorway, his back crashing against the wall before he dropped to the floor in a heap.

Pulling out a shuriken, Batman shifted his shoulders to hide his body beneath his cape. Stepping into the doorway, his frown became a scowl in an instant.

Standing in a room with four—make that five unconscious men considering one was unconscious in the hallway—goons were Black Canary and Green Arrow. They both looked pleased with their handiwork.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Batman demanded.

Their blond heads turned towards him. "And just like that, Daddy's mad," Green Arrow remarked, placing one end of his bow on the floor in front of him and using it to casually lean against.

"I thought I told everyone to stay away from here," he growled back.

"You did," Black Canary replied coming to stand next to the archer, arms crossed in front of her chest. "We thought you could use some help."

"I have everything under control."

"Sure you do," Green Arrow retorted. "You just took out all of these goons here. Oh wait, that was us."

"Do us a favor: stop talking, Arrow," Black Canary warned.

"Huh? You're on his side now?"

"Both of you, get out of here," Batman told them, staring them down. "The reason I didn't want anyone else here was because this bomb may go off, and if it does I wanted to make sure the only one going down is me."

He saw the blonde woman narrow her eyes. "Uh, no, we did that one already some years ago. Gotham was almost back to that point when Dent started causing a ruckus. Whether you like it or not, we're all together on this one."

Batman's face hardened. "No, you're not."

"Yes, we are."

"Can you defuse a bomb?"

Black Canary tiled her head up haughtily. "Actually, I can."

Green Arrow smirked. "So can I."

That...stumped the Dark Knight. Usually when he asked such a question, the answer was going to be no, and he could use that as leverage. He hadn't expected it to backfire like it had.

In the meantime, Green Arrow pulled out an arrow from his quiver. "See this?" he asked rhetorically. "When we get to the bomb, I can activate this to cancel out any radio frequencies. That way if it has a remote trigger, we can make sure it doesn't blow up on us as we defuse it."

"Why not use it now?" Batman questioned.

"Because it has a limited range. It'll work better in the same room as the bomb rather than somewhere in the general vicinity."

That could prove useful actually. Clenching his free hand tightly into a fist, he could see he was losing this argument. "Alright, stay close. Sionis' men are heading for a room underneath the conference room where Mayor Grange and the City Council are. That's where we need to intercept them."

"Sionis?" Green Arrow perked up. "Weird name, but alright. Any chance he showed up himself?"

"More like he'll send his thugs in to do his dirty work," Black Canary answered.

"Great, he's one of those. And I was looking forward to making him a pincushion too."

Batman held back the contempt he had for that flippant attitude before he left the doorway, the other two vigilantes hurrying after him once they noticed his absence. "Hey, hold your horses!" Arrow called after him.

"If you can't keep up, then leave," he barked back.

"And miss this party? Ha! Let's go find this bomb, kids."

* * *

If their information was right, they were close to where the mayor's big emergency meeting was taking place. Yep, it was all going according to plan.

Mr. Jones oversaw the work of the men, two of them crouching down by an air conditioning vent located near the floor. They were unscrewing the grate that covered the vent, moving it a side to reveal the entrance to the ventilation system. A grown man could crawl into that space if he wanted to, which meant the bomb was the perfect size to fit into that 2x2 square hole.

Just another part of the plan. Black Mask had given instructions to place the bomb right here. He had mentioned that when bombs detonated in tight spots, they tended to produce stronger explosions. Something about amplifying force or something along those lines. Basically, the vent system was perfect, being a tight space with enough openings to let the explosion escape without unintentionally stifling it.

Plus, there was a less likely chance anyone would discover it when it wasn't in plain sight.

Mr. Jones, following the masked boss' instructions, turned the explosive device on, the digital display coming alive. Pressing a few keys on the keyboard, he armed and readied the bomb before using his great strength to shove it further back down the vent. No one would be getting that far to turn it off any time soon.

"Seal it shut," he ordered as he stepped back, the two guys who had removed the ventilation grate returning it back to its former position and screwing it shut. Now this was the feeling that came when a job was done right.

However, before any more orders could be issued, one of the guys he had assigned lookout duty came running into the room. "Mr. Jones! Batman's here and he's kicking our asses!"

The giant of a man turned slightly towards the messenger. "The Batman's here?"

"Yeah, and he's heading this way!" the lookout answered unnecessarily.

And that was _not_ according to plan. No one was supposed to know they were here. The few security guards they had come across had been dealt with before they could rat them out. All of it done silently so as not to alert anyone to their presence.

Now some asshole in a Halloween costume was showing up to crash this invite only party.

Figures.

"What are we going to do? He's got us red handed!" somebody cried, obviously not the type to handle pressure of any kind. Why was that asshole here then? Looked like Black Mask's recruitment requirements weren't as high as he thought.

"What you're going to do is shut up," he snapped at the sniveling pussy. "The Batman doesn't know where the bomb is, so we can't let him find out. All we gotta do is lead him away from it, make him think that by coming after us, he's getting closer to the bomb."

Yeah, that was sounding like a better and better idea all the time.

"Then what? Try to waste him?" someone else who wasn't a pussy asked.

"Of course," he snorted before a thought occurred to him. If the guys he had brought along were able to waste the Batman, they would have already done it, wouldn't they? Eying the group around him, he almost snorted in disgust. Who was he kidding, these guys wouldn't stand a chance, the lot of them.

They were weaklings, all of them. They needed somebody to tell them what to do, that's why they all joined with Black Mask in the first place. If they coulda offed the Bat, they woulda already. The fact that they hadn't was answer enough.

No, it was going to take a real man to show these bitches how to do it and to do it right. He was the only real man standing around here, so it fell to him to show what it took to kill an annoying Bat.

"I got an idea," he remarked. "Start leading him to that secret passage. You," he singled out one of the men, a guy with some big teeth sticking out of his mouth. What was his name again? Had something to do with Dick, he was sure of that much. "You're gonna take the detonator, find your way out of this place and find some place safe."

Pulling out the detonator, he handed it to the thin guy with the chompers. "Once you do that, wait a few minutes then press the button. We should all be out of here by then and far enough away that we won't get killed."

Back to the other men. "Whatever you guys do, make sure that our party crasher has no clue what we're up to. You guys do that, and I'll handle everything else after that."

* * *

They were getting closer.

The room the three vigilantes sought was at the end of the hallways—a very long hallway at that. Men with machine guns filled the corridor, firing at will.

And yet, that wasn't going to stop them.

Crashing through a door, Batman took cover in a room as the gunfire raged down the corridor. Across the hall, Black Canary was in another room, hovering by the splintering door frame as she waited to take her chance at getting closer. The two vigilantes had been crisscrossing the hall, using the rooms as cover, and taking out anyone in their way.

Green Arrow, on the other hand…

As Batman peeked around the doorframe, an arrow darted by his head. The arrow flew straight into the barrel of one of the guns as the gunman was raising it, ready to fire his recently-inserted clip. The moment the thug pulled the trigger, the gun exploded in his hands, causing him to cry out as shrapnel from the weapon dug into his arms, torso, and face. In fact, the blast surprised his friends, causing them to stop their firing as they flinched away from him.

Immediately, Batman darted into the hallway, throwing a shuriken down the hall. The projectile nailed one of the gunmen in the back of the head, pitching him face first into the door, albeit towards the bottom. Reaching the next room, Batman took cover in it, Black Canary doing the same across the hall.

However, it seemed Canary had her own company as she ran right into a thug hiding in there. She instantly reacted by grabbing the barrel of the gun and forcing it up, hitting the goon in the face with his own weapon.

She then dropped her hands to grab his shirt. Leaning backwards, the blonde woman purposefully fell to the ground, pulling her opponent with her. By the time her back hit the floor, she had both of her feet, pressed into the man's stomach, which she then fully extend to launch the man into the air. He didn't go too far as he landed near the doorway, just in time for Canary to roll onto top of him, straddling him at his chest. With a fist raised, she brought it down hard against his face, knocking him out cold.

Batman frowned at this. While it was a fluid motion of wrestling, he couldn't help but notice she was holding back. Perhaps that wasn't the right word, but it was as if she wasn't trying to hurt the guy too bad. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but he read her movements as plain as day. She was purposefully restraining herself.

Another arrow flew by then. This one exploded into a bright display of fireworks, causing the men to cry out in pain. That was one way to blind someone.

Batman dashed out into the hall, this time finding a gunman between him and the next room. Rushing him, Batman crossed his arms in front of him and rammed his forearms right into the man, forcing him into the wall behind him. Hands grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket, Batman spun around even as he hauled the thug off the floor. Swinging him, Batman sent the man flying through the air as he screamed, his comrades parting to the side as he flew right down the middle, crashing to the floor in a heap.

And then he was in the next room, just as gunfire resumed. He was getting closer, a couple more crosses and he'd be right in the gunmen's faces. Then next, the bomb.

A dry chuckle filled the room then.

Jerking his head from the doorway, Batman searched the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Cautiously, he ventured further into the room, one hand at his belt in case he needed to pull out something.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

Suddenly, multiple explosions went off around him, small ones that formed a circle around him. The floor dropped out from underneath his feet and Batman found himself falling, crying out in surprise. He tried to reach for his grapple, but the debris around him bashed into him until he landed hard on a very hard, water covered surface.

Pieces of the floor fell on top of him, partially covering the vigilante. And then everything was still. Dazed, Batman laid underneath the debris, trying to recover himself.

It was then re realized the water he was laying in was flowing against his body. Groaning, he raised his head up to look at his surroundings, finding himself in the sewers. Because he was lying on some debris, he wasn't completely in it.

With another groan, Batman pushed himself up, pieces of wood and broken concrete falling off of his body. His body protested as he stood on his feet, the sewer water coming up to mid-calf.

"Welcome to the sewers, Batman."

Head perking up, the vigilante then saw a man land several feet away, splashing up water everywhere. He was a giant of a man, looming over even him. His hands were fiddling with the buttons of his trench coat for some reason, but he didn't seem to have much luck undoing them.

"Who are you?" Batman grunted.

"Name's Waylon Jones and you better remember it," the man growled. Because of the shadows and the hat he was wearing, the dark-clad man couldn't get a good look at his face.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jones finally undid a button, his hands moving to another. "You know, I've dreamed about this since the first time I heard about ya. The Caped Crusader against me, the reigning champ of the UWA."

Batman's eyes narrowed. Those letters, they were an abbreviation for the Underground Wrestlers Association. As it was stated in its name, it was an underground wrestling operation, illegal due to its lack of regulations and perchance for killing its wrestlers. This Jones guy had done well for himself in that line of combat.

"I think you're going to find yourself disappointed with how this fight goes," Batman warned him.

"Oh, that's what you think. You know what they used to call me back then?" Apparently irritated with the buttons, Jones grabbed the coat and pulled it open, buttons flying out in all directions as they were ripped by this motion.

Grey, scaly skin flashed before Batman's eyes. As the coat was tossed aside, Jones' hat fell off his head, revealing a truly monstrous face. It was like staring at the face of a reptile, a crocodile even. What had looked like normal hands in the shadows were now wicked looking claws.

"The Killer Croc."

And with a roar, the crocodile man charged.


	24. Annihilation

Annihilation

Batman leapt backwards, hands raised above his head. His hands touched down on the uneven surface of the debris pile, the dark-clad man performing a backflip in spite of it.

Jones the Crocodile Man crashed into the rubble, his claws ripping through wood and stone with each swing of his arms. Landing on his feet further down the tunnel, Batman saw the giant man was practically on top of him.

Again he jumped back as Jones swung an arm down, his massive hand slamming down on the floor of the sewer tunnel, water splashing in all directions. Immediately, Batman leaped forward, ramming his own fist into the reptile man's face. Though he knocked his opponent's head to a side, a throbbing pain shot throughout his hand and down his arm. Gritting his teeth, the Dark Knight backed away, heading further down the tunnel.

Damn, that had felt like punching a brick wall. In fact, the very feel of Waylon Jones' face was unlike anything he had hit before. Whatever passed for his skin was much harder than a normal man's. In all honesty, it was more like scales. His eyes weren't playing tricks on him then.

"Get back here, you oversized rodent!" Jones roared as he charged at him again. Throwing an arm out to his side, he swung it at the vigilante, his claws scraping along the wall of the tunnel. Again, Batman backflipped to avoid the blow, but when he came back onto his feet, he had two shuriken in his hands. In an instant, he sent them flying, watching them whirl through the air until they hit Jones right in the shoulders.

And watched them bounce off without any sign of damage.

"You throw toys at me?" Jones exclaimed, stalking towards the dark-clad man. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to stand a chance against me."

So that's how he wanted to play it, huh? Batman pulled out another bat-shaped shuriken, pressing his thumb against the body. Again, he threw the projectile, aiming lower at the reptile man. It hit him right at the solar plexus and immediately exploded, blowing Jones back a step as he cried out in surprise and pain.

This time it was Batman's turn to charge. Water splashing with every step he took, he then leaped into the air, leaning back while extended a leg out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. He landed the flying kick against Jones' chest, pushing him back another step.

Landing on the ground, the Dark Knight lashed out with his leg again, kicking out the walking crocodile's legs out from underneath him. Jones landed on his back, but before Batman could continue to press his advantage, he swung his legs up over himself. He rolled up his back and shoulders, hands pressing against the water-covered floor, his feet touching down a moment later.

And then he lunged. Batman barely had time to raise up onto his feet when Jones rammed his shoulder into him, carrying him off the ground for several feet before the reptile man suddenly stopped. Momentum carried the vigilante further down the tunnel until he landed hard on his back.

A groan left his mouth as he began to shift. That really hurt. A throbbing pain covered his chest and gut, protesting the blow. Faintly he was aware of a piece of wood—probably from the collapsed floor—by his hand. _Let's not do that again,_ he groused in his head.

"Reeeaaaaahhhhh!"

Eyes snapping wide open, Batman saw Jones lunging at him, his mouth open to reveal very long, very sharp teeth.

Grabbing onto the piece of driftwood, the vigilante pulled it in front of him just in time for Jones' mouth to close right down on it. Splinters shot everywhere as Batman held both ends of the piece of wood. Jones forced himself closer to the dark-clad man, growls reverberating down his throat.

His arms screamed in protest as he held the beast off. This was insane! He wouldn't last long enough for Jones to tire and then he'd be bitten. Yet he couldn't let go lest he give the man the opening he wanted. The standstill would last only seconds and then it'd be over.

So Batman made a move. Bringing his legs up, he dug them into Jones' stomach. Rolling from his back to his shoulders as much as he could, Batman pushed out with his legs, flipping the crocodile man off of him. He even let go of the broken piece of wood, it still being held firmly in the man's mouth. Completely the roll, Batman was back on his feet.

And unfortunately, Jones was getting back onto his too. Spitting out the wood, he brought a hand up and began rubbing the back of it against his mouth and cheek. "I gotta say, I'm starting to have a ball. How about you?"

Sure, he was having fun.

"Don't got anything to say? That's fine. I know when dinner is ready because it stops screaming."

Alright, that was enough. Reaching into his belt, Batman pulled out his brass knuckles, sliding them onto each hand. Jones noticed this immediately. "Oh, so you like to use brass knuckles, huh? This just got more interesting."

"Just wait," Batman retorted. This probably wasn't his best idea, but he didn't have much of a choice. Jones didn't look the least bit winded nor hurt. Something had to give. "I don't know what Black Mask is paying you, but I'm gonna make sure it wasn't enough."

* * *

The last man collapsed to the floor in blissful unconsciousness. Standing above him, Black Canary punched her fist into her other hand, hearing the leather tighten.

Footsteps alerted her to someone's approach. Turning her head, she saw Green Arrow sauntering towards her, twirling an arrow in one hand, his bow in the other. "You know, I get the impression you've done this before," he quipped.

"It's Tuesdays in this city," the blonde returned, dropping her arms to her side. Looking around, she saw a distinct lack of a large bat around. "Where's Batman?"

Arrow shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. Maybe he's on a detour. Regardless, we have a bomb to disarm."

Well, he was right about that. Green Arrow approached the door, grabbing the doorknob and turning. He then looked to her, a sly grin on his face. "Lady's first?" he offered as he opened the door.

"Oh, by all means, I insist," Black Canary returned. Together, they entered the room, coming to a full stop a moment later.

"Okay, so where's the bomb?" the archer asked.

The room was just that: a room. Sure there was some unused furniture, but that was it. There was no sign of the bomb anywhere. Now what did they do?

Suddenly, a loud, animalistic roar rang out, causing the two blond vigilantes to spin around. Green Arrow had his bow raised and notched, Canary with her fists raised. When nothing showed, they both began looking to each other.

"I am now officially confused," the green archer said. "What the hell is going on?"

"As opposed to all the other times?" the blonde woman remarked. Slowly, she began to walk down the hall, her comrade following her. Eyeing the open doorways, she peeked into them until she found one revealing a room with a large, empty hole in its floor. Immediately, she went into the room and looked into the large opening.

Again, the roar rang out, clearing coming from the hole.

"So, we have a hole here and some kind of monster down there somewhere. What are the chances it knows something about this bomb?" Black Canary asked.

Green Arrow stood next to her, gazing into the darkness below. He then looked to the blonde. "Lady's first?"

* * *

Over and over, Batman slammed his fists into Waylon Jones' abdomen, electricity springing out from the brass knuckles. Seeing Jones draw an arm back, he held back from throwing another punch. The reptile man swung his arm, his claws slashing at the vigilante.

In response, Batman ducked the swing, but not before wrapping his arm around Jones'. With his other hand, he rammed it right where his opponent's kidney would be, causing him to scream out wildly.

Pulling against the crocodile man's arm, the Dark Knight raised himself in the air, leaning to a side as his feet ran up and then on the side of the tunnel. This brought him right to Jones' unguarded back. A fist drawn, he then slammed it against the back of the monster's neck, causing another scream of pain.

However, whether it was intentional or an unexpected spasm, Jones swung his arm back, pushing it right up against the vigilante, which in turned forced him backwards. Letting go of his hold, Batman flew a short distance away, landing further down the tunnel. The water level had fallen, barely covering his feet by now. However, he could hear a growing sound, that of water falling onto water.

Letting out an enraged roar, Jones charged at him once again, Batman ducking to a side. His foe raced by him, but then let out a scream, followed by a large splash. Twisting around to look, Jones had virtually disappeared from sight, sending alarms throughout his head.

Cautiously, the vigilante advanced down the tunnel until he realized it came to an abrupt stop. The sound he had been hearing was that of the tunnel emptying out into a large chamber. He couldn't see the floor due to the amount of water in it. There was another tunnel on the other side, which was clearly where the room was emptying out of.

So where was Jones?

Considering he had no idea where the man was, not to mention how much sewer water was here, it was a bad idea to keep using the electrified brass knuckles. If he so much as made a fist, he could shock the entire room, himself included if he fell in. That was a risk he wasn't willing to take. Slipping off the brass knuckles, he then placed them back into their pouch on his belt.

And then a large hand wrapped around his ankle.

Batman only had time to look down to see the big, scaly hand before he was thrown through the air, hurled out into the chamber. The vigilante let out a surprised cry right before he plunged into the water and disappeared into its depths.

He seemed to go down for awhile, but suddenly came up on what he assumed was a floor. Thanks to the lens in his cowl, he could actually see a decent distance around him despite what was coloring the water.

His assumption was correct as he saw the brick pattern of the floor. However, his attention was drawn away when he heard something moving through the water. Turning his head, he searched for the source when he caught sight of something big practically gliding through the water.

And it was angling towards him.

Coming hot and fast, he realized it was Jones, his mouth wide open. Batman barely had time to get his arms up, being slowed by the water around him, when the crocodile man rammed into him. Hands pressed against Jones' shoulders, that was the only way Batman stopped himself from having razor-sharp teeth from taking a chunk out of his head. He was pushed through the water, slowly going up before they exploded into the air.

Batman could feel the strength in his arms beginning to give out, so he had to act fast, especially since they were out of the water momentarily. Swinging his lower body up, he flipped over Jones, allowing the reptile man to pass him by beneath him. Completing the flip, Batman landed in the water, finding it to come up to his chin.

Pulling out his grapple, he fired it to the sewer tunnel and hit the retraction button the moment the line went taut. He pulled himself through the water back to it, the water level slowly receding as he moved closer to it.

Of course, before he could get much further, Jones exploded out of the water again, right between the Dark Knight and the tunnel. He bit down onto the cable and a second later it snapped, stopping the vigilante's advancement.

Well, that wasn't good. With his line broken, it would take him a little bit to put in a new line in the grapple, time he was sure he didn't have considering just how good of a swimmer Jones was. He was a sitting duck in this now-hip deep water. With Jones' unexpected swimming skills, he could strike from just about anywhere.

Which was why he wasn't too surprised when Jones exploded from the water behind him.

Batman's first instinct was to get out of the way of the raised of the raised claws. In fact, he was already twisting his body as he forced himself to his left. There was no avoiding it, the claws were moving much faster, primed and ready to rip through his armor and flesh.

Which was why the small explosion the erupted from his head was totally unexpected.

Jones roared as he stumbled forward. Batman took that time to push his way through the water, gaining some distance between them. Looking to the tunnel entrance, he saw Green Arrow kneeling in the opening, his bow raised and empty of an arrow.

"Now!" he shouted.

That was when Black Canary shot out of the sewer tunnel, leaping high into the air. The moment she was above Jones, she unleashed a loud, piercing screaming, one that made both Batman and Waylon Jones cry out from the pain in their ears.

Amazingly enough, the very air from Canary's mouth to the area surrounding Jones rippled. The sewer water was pushed in every direction, slowly revealing more and more of the crocodile man until his entire person was visible. The brick floor began to crack from the continuous pressure placed on it. All the while, the blonde vigilante seemed to hover in midair, kept that way from her Canary Cry.

Earlier, Batman had felt Black Canary had been holding back. Any thought of that was gone as she poured every bit of herself into her strange power. It was doing a number on the giant reptile, his body cringing from the force, his hands pressed against his ears, as his knees slowly buckled.

And then she stopped, her breath finally give out. Immediately, the sewer water rushed to void around Jones, crashing against his body and washing him away.

As gravity began to drop Canary, another arrow flew across the room, dragging a cable along with it. The arrowhead pierced into the wall on the other side of the room, leaving the cord taut behind it. The blonde vigilante grabbed onto the cable as she fell be it, swinging herself up so that she rested on top of it.

In the meantime, Batman was pulled along with the current against his will. He tried to fight against it, but it was of no use. Swept away, he found himself rushing towards the last known location of Jones, just beneath the outstretched rope.

Canary was suddenly hanging upside down from the rope, one hand stretched out to him. "Grab on!" she shouted, to which Batman threw his own hand up. Their hands hit each other and they immediately grabbed on. The blonde vigilante grunted as she was pulled by the force of the current, but she didn't let go of him or the cable.

Pulling against each other, Batman slowly emerged from the water until he was able to also grab onto the cord. Between him and Black Canary, the two vigilantes managed to get both of them onto the cable, resting on it as if it were a tightrope. "Thanks," he grunted.

"Don't mention it," she gasped back.

"Alright, is someone gonna tell me what's going on?" Green Arrow then called out, causing the two Gothamites to look to him. "I came here for a bomb, but now there's a crocodile in the sewers. Tell me I'm not just dreaming this."

"You're not dreaming this."

Slowly, Waylon Jones began to emerge from the water, looking none too pleased by the sight of them.

"I'd say pinch me, but I don't think I'd want you too." Arrow crouched down, another arrow notched on his boy. "What do we call you, Sunshine?"

Jones' hand slapped the water. "Hold your tongue, ya fairy. I'm a two-time wrestling champ."

"Oh really? Did they call you Later Gator?"

The scaly man growled. "Killer Croc," he shot back.

Batman looked to Black Canary. "He had to mock the crocodile man."

The blonde woman gave him an exasperated look in turn. "Now you know what I've been dealing with."

"And I'll be dealing with all of you!" the famed Killer Croc roared. "C'mon! Which one of you do I eat first?!"

* * *

It was through a window that the buck-toothed man escaped the confines of City Hall, obeying Mr. Jones' order to the letter. Dicky landed in some shrubbery and had to yank himself out of the foliage to stumble across the trimmed lawn of the government building.

It was dark out, much of the city staying indoors due to recent events. The unnatural silence was daunting, almost unnatural for a city that was always active, especially in the darkest hours of the night.

The professional safecracker held the precious detonator within his suit jacket, keeping a hand pressed against in as he began jogging away. He had no idea how far he needed to go before he could be "safe" from the bomb's detonation. A few city blocks didn't seem far enough, at least to him.

But explosives weren't his specialty anyway.

It was too bad they had walked here, and through the sewers no less. Those same sewers were probably the means to get away. That meant they hadn't brought any getaway cars or a truck to make this easier. But the plan had changed, what with Batman showing up. So adaptation was necessary.

This two-bit criminal would have to stroll down the streets of Gotham until he was far enough away. Once he put some distance between himself and City Hall, he would slow down and try to look like he was another down on his luck bum looking for the nearest shelter, as hard as that would be to believe due to his dress.

Then again, as mentioned before, no one was out. Meaning no one would be paying attention to him anyway.

Those were hopeful thoughts that came to an end just as he was weaving between a couple parked cars. He was ambushed by two men who wrestled him down onto his knees, holding his arms against his back. Dicky struggled, he really did, but to escape the grasp of two attackers? That was beyond him.

"Well, well, what do we have here."

Slipping into view, Two-face took his place in front of the safecracker, not looking the least bit impressed. The disfigured crime lord eyed his catch critically, wondering where his competition had picked this one up. Hardly a threat to anybody, this man was.

"You seem out of place here, my friend," the former district attorney remarked as he bent his knees lowering himself so that he wasn't looking straight down. "I would know, I used to work here. If I had to guess, you're one of Black Mask's little cronies, aren't you?"

No answered was needed, the bugged-out eyes were answer enough.

"You wouldn't happen to know where some of your buddies are, wouldn't you?" Two-face continued, making a show of looking to his left then his right. "I wouldn't want to be caught off guard again by them. It was bad enough they came after me last night, and I'm more than looking forward to returning the favor."

This buck-toothed man began stammering and it was hard to make out any words. The crime lord was not going to have any of it.

"Alright, let's not spoil this with words. Search him and see if he has anything on him."

The twins went to work, Max restraining their prisoner while Min did a search. From the buck-toothed man's jacket, he removed an oblong device with a cap on it, a detonator if Two-face didn't know any better. Holding out his hand, Min obeyed and handed his find over to the dichotomous man.

Eyeing it carefully, he flipped open the cap, revealing a small red button. There was no mistaking what this was. If Foster's intelligence was correct, this little thing was all that stood between the politicians of Gotham City and a very quick death. So much power in any man's hand, and now that hand was his. Not Black Mask's or anybody else's. His.

"Take him to the car," he commanded. "Let's take us a little ride."

Turning on his heel, Two-face led the group of four to his very noteworthy sedan, waiting until Min left their captive side to open the door for him. Slipping in, he moved all the way to the other side, Black Mask's henchman shoved in after him. Casually, the disfigured man pulled out a pistol and aimed it at his seat mate. Up front, both Min and Max slid into the driver's and front passenger's' seats, Max naturally in the driver's.

As the engine rumbled and pulled away from the curb, Two-face thought he'd have a little conversation with his captive.

"You can nod if you want. Now this is a guess, but this little device here is linked to some kind of bomb, your bosses' bomb, correct?" he asked conversationally. Glancing at the other man, he noted how he was trembling in his seat.

Snorting, the crime lord continued, "Stupid question, I know. The answer's obvious. I guess the real question is, who trusted you enough to give this to you? You look like a worm to me, spineless and willing to follow somebody else's lead. Did they want you to press the button too? A lot of trust you're given.

"Except, now it's mine. So what do I want to do with it?" Two-face paused as he looked thoughtful. "There's a lot things I could choose to do with it. Since your friends have probably already planted that bomb, it's good to go, isn't it? With a few calls, I could hold everyone in the building hostage if I wanted. Or maybe I could choose to do the right thing and break this detonator, saving all those lives in there."

The disfigured man almost chuckled at his captive. The buck-toothed man was really starting to sweat now.

"Or…" he paused again, letting the suspense build a bit, "...or I can use this detonator as it was intended. Blow that whole place to kingdom come. Yeah, that would be the wrong thing to do, wouldn't it? Now I'm of two minds of what to do. Should I press the button or not?"

Balancing the detonator in the crook of his elbow, Two-face pulled out his coin. He admired both sides of it, the pristine good side and the scarred bad side for a moment. He was in no way wary of Black Mask's goon, and there didn't seem to be any need.

Looking up, he stated, "I guess there's only one way figure this out."

Good heads, he wouldn't press the button. Bad heads, he would press the button.

He gave the coin a flip, watching its ascent then descent through the air before catching it. He clenched his fingers tightly around the coin, the thin sides biting into his skin. There was something about this toss that was...momentous. It was as if he was awaiting the blessing or the cursing of God himself. This moment deserved all the reverence it deserved.

Finally, as if an eternity had passed, he uncurled his fingers to gaze down onto the coin's decision.

Bad heads.

"The coin has spoken," Two-face stated as he picked the detonator up once more and pressed the button.

* * *

The digital display on the cube-shaped bomb flashed red. The explosive device unleashed the chemicals within, mixing them and igniting them

The force created by the following explosion tore it open and filling the ventilation shafts immediately. With barely any room to spread, that same force began acting on itself, augmented itself, growing stronger and stronger by the millisecond.

Metal was crumpled and ripped to shreds. The rock and marble that lined the walls were blasted away. In the relative safety of the conference room, Gotham's leading figures in government had only a flashing light warn them before they were all consumed. Hallways were filled with a fast, raging inferno that devoured the unconscious and incapacitated forms of Black Mask's crew.

Fire blasted out from the windows and doorways of City Hall shooting out shrapnel made of sheetrock in every conceivable direction. Across the street on every side that surrounded the crumbling structure, the windows of all the buildings facing the savage destruction shattered from the force of the explosion. Glass shards fell to the street like rain.

Then the roar stripped the city of its blanket of silence. The streets shook as kinetic energy ran through them. Fires and smoke billowed up to the starry sky above, reaching for the heavens themself.

City Hall, no longer able to hold itself up, began to collapse in on itself, its weight carrying its wreckage downwards and into the earth.

* * *

The tremor was the first thing they felt. Next came the sound of an explosion echoing down the sewer tunnel Green Arrow stood in front of.

Lastly, cracks began to race all along the walls of the chamber, dust and grim blowing out into the air from the growing crevices.

"Guys, I think we have another problem," Green Arrow said.

As if on cue, chunks of the ceiling broke away, falling down to the watery floor below. They hit with deafening crashes, sending water flying in all directions. More and more chucks, some bigger, others smaller, began falling all over the place. As they hit the water, they pushed it away, a strong current powering throughout the room.

Waylon Jones found that out the hard way as the current swept him back. "Ahhhhh!" he cried out, right before a giant piece of brick-and-mortar landed in his wake, hiding him from sight.

"Boys and girls, it's time to go!" Green Arrow shouted.

Immediately, Batman had his grapple out. Popping out the old cable cartridge, he put in a new one, clicking it into place. Pulling out the old cable from the previous box, he then tossed an end to Arrow. "Grab on!"' he called out, which the archer did, diving out of the sewer tunnel and into the water. Canary did the same, one hand grabbing the cord while her other tightened on his leg, if only to make sure Batman didn't slip.

With all of the destruction, there was only one way out of here: the sewer exit on the other side of the room. Aiming his grapple, he fired it, the claw catching hold just above the exit. Letting go of the rope, Batman hit the retraction button and was pulled through the air and then the water as he hit it. Black Canary followed him, never once letting go of his leg. Since they both had a hold of the cable, it was assumed Green Arrow was right behind them.

And then they reached the opening. With the water seeking to go anywhere it could, they were pulled right into the tunnel, which first went downward. It was then Black Canary let go of the Dark Knight's leg, if only so that she could keep her head above water as the two of them raced down the tunnel. A quick look back showed Green Arrow had made it, his head the only visible part of him.

It was just in time too as a piece of the ceiling landed right at the entrance, sealing them off from the chamber. While that stopped the flow of water, it also caused cracks to race down the tunnel with it, the tunnel's walls beginning to crumble and fall apart.

This just got better and better.

Suddenly, the tunnel stopped it slope, evening out. On both sides of the tunnel were cement walkways, which Batman immediately lunged for, his upper body landing on top of even as his legs were pulled with the current. He felt Black Canary's body bump into his before she managed to get a hold of the walkway as well, pulling herself up. Green Arrow joined them shortly, landing with a wet _splat_ on the other side of Batman. The sloping tunnel collapsed soon after, but fortunately no further damage was caused. They were safe for the time being.

"So, this was a Tuesday night for you two?" the archer asked as they pulled themselves out of the water.

"No, this part is Wednesday," Black Canary responded.

"Ugh, I'd hate to see Thursday and Friday."

A sigh. "Does anyone here get the feeling that dirty bomb went off?" Black Canary asked.

Batman nodded. "Unfortunately. It would explain why the sewer tunnels began to collapse."

"Which means we failed," Green Arrow summed up, running a hand through his blond hair. "Damn it."

Damn it was right. Unfortunately, the initial blast was only the beginning. They needed to determine the fallout lest they emerged from the sewers right in the middle of it.

Raising a hand up to his cowl, Batman activated the comm link. "Oracle, come in."

* * *

It was too a daze that Kate Spencer woke up. The room around her was rumbling, causing everything to shake. The sound of glass breaking as a glass fell to the floor and shattered really got her up.

 _Jesus, what time was it?_

That was a strange thing to wonder upon waking up, especially since a minor earthquake seemed to be occurring. As the rumbling stopped, the brunette purged that thought from her head. She had felt worse in California, so that little shaking was nothing. Strange, she didn't know Gotham had a fault line.

The room was darker than she remembered it. As the acting-District Attorney, Kate had been swamped with Harvey Dent's caseload. Couple that with her own and all that time she had spent with the Birds tracking down Milo and a tired lawyer she made. The last thing she remembered was her eyelids getting heavy and then…

Well, obviously she fell asleep.

Stretching her arms, Kate looked to the nearby block and froze. _Oh God, it's that late?!_ she freaked. Damn, damn, damn! She was late. She was so freaking late!

Mayor Grange had called that emergency meeting and she was expected to attend it. How far was City Hall from here? A couple blocks? She might be able to run it. Quickly, Kate was out of her seat, gathering what she could on her desk to shove into her briefcase.

Naturally, that's when one of the other lawyers barged into her office. "Kate!" the man cried out, causing annoyance to well up in her.

"Now's not a good time, Robert," she replied.

"Thank God you're here." _Huh?_ "I thought you had left for City Hall already. Something's going down."

Kate frowned as she looked to Robert. "What are you talking about?"

"There's reports of some explosion going off at City Hall. It might be a bomb," he told her.

Quickly, Kate moved to a window, looking out of it. A few blocks away, she could see a dark cloud rising up into the sky.

 _Oh my God…_

However, her gaze was then brought down to all the cars in the street, traffic having built up. Strange, it shouldn't be that congested this time of night. There were people climbing out of their cars, looking in the direction of the smoke.

"Robert, tell me everyone's in the building," Kate spoke then.

"Everyone that's usually here," he replied. "I have a couple people calling people's homes and cells to make sure they're alright." He paused. "Jesus Christ, a terrorist attack while we're in the middle of a gang war. What's next?"

 _What's next is Manhunter needs to get out there._ That was Kate's first thought. Her second was to contact the other Birds to let them know what was going on.

"Robert, once everyone is accounted for, I want you to get them as far away from here as you can," the brunette said. "If there's been an attack on City Hall, you can bet other government buildings will be targeted, which includes us."

"On it." Robert then disappeared from her doorway, the door closing behind him.

Immediately, Kate was opening a drawer in her desk. It was probably unwise of her, but she kept a comm link hidden in her desk in case she needed to get a hold of someone. Though her desk was now a top target for espionage, she was certain no one would get a hold of this one.

Mostly because the device looked like an old flip phone.

Pulling out the phone, Kate flipped it open and turned it on. Putting it next to her ear, she then said, "This is Manhunter, someone pick up. There's been an attack on City Hall."

There was nothing for a moment, but then a whole lot of static burst through the receiver, causing the brunette to wince. _"This is Canary. Where are you?"_

"I'm at my office. Just felt an explosion go off."

" _Listen carefully then, do_ not _go to City Hall. I repeat, don't go to City Hall."_

Kate pulled the phone from her ear, staring at it like it had grown a second head. Shoving it back against her face, she demanded, "What do you mean don't go there? People could be hurt!"

" _Manhunter, a dirty bomb just went off, courtesy of Black Mask. You go there and you're gonna get yourself killed. The best thing for you is to get as many people as far from City Hall as you can."_

That caused the DA to swallow hard. _A dirty bomb? Black Mask?_ "Are you telling me that Black Mask is back? That old mob boss?"

" _That's right. For now, coordinate with Oracle. She's the only one with a good idea of what's going on right now. I'll be in touch when I can. Canary, out."_

Slowly, Kate lowered the phone to her side. Her eyes went back to the window, right onto the smoke cloud. Jesus Christ...Jesus H. Christ, what the hell was going on in this city?

* * *

When the blast that tore out of City Hall erupted, all cameras in the nearby area were fried. Dread filling her, Barbara immediately began searching for any visual of the area because " _no, no, no, this didn't just happen!"_

When the first visual feeds appeared on her monitors, some recovering from static, the sight she saw horrified and appalled the computer hacker.

City Hall was gone. All that was left of it was smoldering ruins that had collapsed straight into the ground. Leveled was another word that could be used to describe it. Black plumes of smoke leaked out of it, filling the air above the disaster area with a baleful cloud.

This...this couldn't be happening.

Quickly, she searched out the last location she had last seen her father, finding him standing outside of his car and staring in the direction of the bombing in a daze. There were many others doing much the same as him, and relief washed over her at the sight.

He was alive. Her daddy was still alive, and that knowledge almost brought her to tears.

Through the feed, she saw the commissioner robotically dig into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Without looking down at it, he pressed on the buttons then raised the device to his head, only to lower it a moment later to stare at the screen. Most likely he had found out that he couldn't use it. Then he got back into his car.

Barbara was on the move, tuning into the radio channel reserved for all law enforcement officers. Never had she ever heard such a more beautiful sound than that of her father reporting in and asking about what had just happened. Chatter filled the channel, the summary of which was that a bomb had gone off and taken out the building.

Then her father made the request for all emergency and first responders to get their asses to City Hall immediately.

Her relief was soon replaced with horror was more. They couldn't have any emergency personnel down there; a dirty bomb had gone off and those poor people would be killed just by doing their jobs. The death count would only be going up.

"Negative," she butted in, using her equipment to alter her voice. "The bomb that destroyed City Hall is a dirty bomb! I repeat, the bomb is a dirty bomb! Do not send anybody down there! Do NOT send ANYBODY down there!"

" _Who is this?"_ her father demanded, the only clear voice Oracle could hear as the chatter erupted into an unintelligible mess. Basically, it was who she was, how did she get on this channel, how the hell did she know it was a dirty bomb, and many other demands were made.

Oracle only repeated her warning, praying that she would be heeded. From her video feeds of City Hall, she could see small, dark figures heading towards the disaster already, either the emergency personnel or some altruistic bystanders.

" _Oracle, come in."_

Cutting off the police chatter, she answered, "This is Oracle."

" _What happened. Did the bomb go off?"_

Heat welled up in her throat. "It's all gone."

" _What's all gone?"_ A blunt demand for information.

"City Hall. It's all gone. It's collapsed on itself," Oracle answered, her eyes trained on her monitor as she saw the small dots that were the first responders beginning to writhe. "There is no more City Hall."

The horrors of this night were only beginning.


	25. Deadline for Justice

Deadline for Justice

 _6:38 AM_

The sun was beginning to lighten the sky, dawn slowly approaching. An exhausted Commissioner Gordon could not welcome it like he usually found he could, preferably at home with Sarah. He was still in downtown Gotham, keeping up perimeter around what was left of City Hall. Several blocks had to be evacuated and blocked off due to the fallout from the bomb.

Only people in hazmat suits could enter that area to try and clean it up, starting with the bodies of the first responders. Those brave souls were only trying to do their jobs and help, unaware of the bomb's true nature. They were the first confirmed fatalities and Gordon had a feeling that list was only going to get longer.

The mayor, much of the city council, and other officials had yet to be accounted for. He had been able to locate their interim district attorney and a couple others, all of whom had been running late or were caught up in the very convenient traffic jam that had formed before the explosion. The rest who were supposed to be at that emergency meeting were still trying to be found.

Most likely they were mixed in with all the rubble, if there was anything left of them to be found.

What were they going to do? It had been a long time since the last time they had been in such dire straits. Unlike the last time, this time most of their government had been stripped away and those who could have led this city were taken with it. As of now, he was perhaps the highest ranking person in the city.

He took no pride in that fact.

Gordon had never imagined that this was where it would all lead to. The death and destruction were so out of hand and who knew what would come next after this? When would it all end? When would this city wake up from this nightmare?

The smoke that continued to rise from the remains of City Hall had yet to stop, and already someone was taking responsibility for this. By now, the commissioner wondered if he should stop feeling surprised.

Because Harvey Dent...no, Two-face was claiming that responsibility. Through both a recorded message and a video posted on the internet, he declared to the world that the bombing was his doing. It didn't matter what his reasoning for this was, what he demanded from the limping city, or anything else. The man that Gordon had come to respect and depend on was gone, and only this monster was left in his place. There was nothing left to salvage from what Dent had become.

If nothing else, the sight that he had to see in front of him illustrated what Two-face was capable of. What lines he was willing to cross. The people he was willing to hurt. That he had no limits to the depravity he would sink to.

There was nothing this madman wouldn't do.

So what were his options? What was there that he could do?

The National Guard had come in force to shore up the numbers of the GCPD. You could see armed men and women with weapons city cops were not likely to be seen with lining the perimeter and effectively keeping anybody at risk outside of it. There was activity over in Trenton where a special session of the legislature was being convened. There was even word the Feds were on their way. So higher authorities were planning to get more involved at some point. That meant Gordon's sudden prominence had a time limit.

There was one thing he could do. Some may not like it. Others were already flat out demanding it. And times were desperate. Desperate measures were going to be needed to end this once and for all.

A sharp whistle drew the commissioner out of his thoughts, bringing his gaze to a most unwelcome sight. Barred and held back by the presence of the National Guard was Vale. She, like many other journalists and reporters, had been drawn here, all looking for a scoop. Oh, and now she was calling for him. What was he, a dog? Still, no one could be spared to give her the usual runaround.

"Gordon, you owe me!" the reporter called out to him, making the commissioner grit his teeth together.

Spinning oh his heel, he marched over towards her. "Now's not a good time," he snapped at her.

"Then give me something and I'll leave you alone," Vale quipped, not in the least bit put off.

"I don't have the time to answer any questions. Stay behind the line for once. You'll be thankful later," he ordered, intending to leave then and there.

"At least answer this: does anyone know where the mayor is or the city council? Nobody has been able to reach them," Vale pressed, unwilling to give up.

Maybe the stress, the horror, or just everything was getting to him, because Gordon had another lapse in judgement. "Look at this, Vale," he gestured over to what could be seen of City Hall. "Isn't this enough?"

Perhaps it was the way he had said it, but Vale for once was quiet, looking at the sight behind the commissioner. If ever the phrase "a picture tells a thousand words" was true, that over there clinched it. What more could be said about it? Everyone knew about what had been taking place last night. The timing of the bombing had been deliberate, targeting that specific meeting.

"But if it's a scoop you want, here's one," he found himself adding. "I will be submitting a formal request to the Justice League for their intervention. Do with that what you will."

Not waiting for any reply or follow up, Gordon stalked away, fully intending to match his actions to words. He himself didn't want to do this, but this matter was out of his hands now. Even if he wasn't the first, he didn't care.

Something had already given. Now everything else would fall behind it.

* * *

 _7:11 AM_

Batman stared at the devastation. He couldn't be too close due to the chemicals currently surrounding the crater that used to be City Hall. Instead he had to choose a building a few blocks away, out of the contaminated area, one that was several stories high and gave him a very good look at the scene.

Just when things felt as if they couldn't get worse, they did. First Two-Face, then the return of Black Mask, now this. It was as if neither man had any thought to restraint. They were more than willing to let their gang war spill out into the streets of Gotham with no care as to who got hurt.

Gotham was hurting now and so was he. As the crater scarred the city, it left a wound in him as well. With one hand wrapping around the edge of the ledge he crouched on, his other one balled into a fist so tight, he would've drawn blood had his gloves not been present.

The first beams of sunlight were beginning to show themselves, meaning it was time for him to retreat to the cave and make some sense of this. Better yet, he needed to come up with something to put an end to this madness once and for all. A line had been crossed last night and there was no telling what that would lead to.

Then, as if to prove him right, he felt a presence behind him. It wasn't the other vigilantes considering he hadn't heard the telltale sound of a grapple. He did hear footsteps though, which meant someone either climbed the building or they flew in.

"You don't look well."

Batman tilted his head to a side, seeing Diana standing a few feet away. Her uniform was beginning to shine in the growing light, a light breeze blowing her hair to a side. She held herself confidently, but she was keeping her distance.

This did not bode well.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly.

"I heard about the bombing," she replied before she took a couple more steps towards him, coming to stand off to his right and behind. The Dark Knight turned his head to look back at the scene. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'll live," he grunted back. Though for how much longer was up for debate. That said, there was something else going on here. As…fond...as he was growing towards the Amazon, she didn't make unnecessary trips, even if it was to check on a comrade. They had comm links after all. "You still didn't answer my question."

There was a pause and the longer it stretched, the worse his feeling grew. "The Justice League received a communique from the state governor," she told him, confirming his growing fear.

Batman was standing up now, turning to face the dark-haired woman. He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. Diana continued, "He's requested the League intervene in Gotham. With the city government gone and the use of a dirty bomb, the governor felt our presence was needed."

"You're not coming in," he stated, though there was a hit of incredulousness in his voice.

"Considering what has been happening…" Diana trailed off before she sighed, her shoulders sagging. "In light of what has transpired, the League took a vote and it was decided we would be taking action." She paused. "I'm sorry...Batman."

 _No...No!_ The League could not come here, no matter what their intentions. It was one thing for some charity ball, it was another for them to actively take a role in the fight. The repercussions would echo for decades.

"I need time," he said then. "You have to give me more."

A sad smile appeared on Diana's face. "If I could, I would give you every second you needed, but things have changed. This Harvey Dent person has forced everyone's hands."

And to be honest, Batman couldn't blame her or the Justice League. In fact, if there was any blame to be had, it rested right at his feet. He should have taken care of this mess a long time ago; before the bomb, before Leslie's kidnapping…

It was his turn for his shoulders to sag. "How much can you give me?"

The Amazon straightened out her posture. "The League has just finished dealing with the matter in Kahndaq. It's left everyone rather exhausted." Looking closer at her face, Batman could see the fatigue in her features, something he hadn't noticed due to her initial report. "Everyone is recovering from that, so it won't be today."

That was something at least. "However, once we're rested, we will be coming to Gotham. I believe I can buy you some time, but not much."

"How long?"

"Midnight, maybe. Maybe not even that."

Batman clenched his fist. It wasn't as much time as he wished, but there really wasn't much of a choice. "Tell the others if they can give me that much, I won't protest their involvement."

That startled the dark-haired woman. "Are you sure?"

"I have to be honest, things have gotten way out of hand," the vigilante admitted. "If I can't close the matter by then, then I don't deserve it any more. This war has to end."

Diana raised a hand up and placed it on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. "I think the others will be agreeable to that arrangement. But Batman... _Bruce..._ hurry."

Though she had whispered his name, the fact that she had used it out in the field, where anyone could've heard it impressed upon him just how urgent the situation was.

"I will," he told her. "I will."

* * *

 _9:24 AM_

There was one other person in Gotham who was not happy with the events downtown. Furious was one word to describe him.

"HOW DARE HE?!" Black Mask roared as he overturned a table, heedless of the small knickknacks and papers that had been placed on it. "HOW FUCKING _DARE_ HE?!" A chair was picked up and thrown across the room, slamming into the wall and falling down on the floor.

Furious was the understatement of the year here. Angry, outraged, insulted, and more importantly, wrathful. That's what the masked man was and more. It was doubtful there was even a word to describe how he felt right now.

"That _motherfucking_ son of a bitch dares to steal _my_ credit! For MY goddamn plan! And people fucking believe him?" he continued to bellow, trashing the room without a care. Because what did it matter? Months of planning, importing, building, and waiting had all gone down the drain. There was no point anymore!

Standing against the wall, Mr. Waylon Jones stood awkwardly in nothing but his still dripping wet pants, his boots forgotten and possibly lost in the sewers. Scratching the back of his scaly head, the hired muscle said, "Sorry boss."

That did nothing to soothe his rage.

"Sorry? You can take that sorry of yours and shove it up your ass you ugly, Louisiana bayou reject!" Black Mask nearly screamed.

"At least the bomb, you know, blew up," Jones tried to point out.

"That's what it was built to do, you nincompoop! Why else would anybody make a bomb! The explosion wasn't the point, it was the credit! Without it, no one gives a flying fuck about us! Instead, that two-faced bastard gets all of it without lifting a finger and gets the fear that _we_ needed!"

Black Mask placed his hands against the sides of his skull-shaped mask, wincing underneath it at the growing headache he was feeling. Now he was feeling tired. So very tired… Could nothing be going right?

"So what are we going to do?" spoked up Mitch, one of the few survivors of their botched bomb plot.

He had lost so many men last night, men he couldn't afford to lose. He had barely anyone on hand now. Ten, fifteen tops. Barely enough to make a gang, much less a criminal enterprise of any kind. It was another reminder how disastrous the whole thing had turned out to be.

But Mitch over there had a point. A real good point. What were they going to do? Getting angry about Dent stealing his thunder was not going to change anything. It wouldn't bring the masked man any closer to achieving his goals.

And that made him even more frustrated. That led him back to his anger and the bastard responsible for it. An endless loop of frustration and rage that would go on, feeding on itself. Unless he did something about it.

"Retaliation," he muttered to himself, eyes glaring coldly straight ahead. "We need to pay Dent back in kind for this."

"Now I'm interested," Jones growled eagerly.

"Dent took what didn't belong to him," Black Mask continued, speaking more to himself than to anyone specific. "This was our time. Our rise. He can't just take it away without paying some kind of price. Something important to him. That's what it has to be."

"But what would be important to a guy like him?" Jones asked.

A very good question. What was it that Dent valued most? What was something that was so important to him that it would draw him out of his own free will? It couldn't be Thorne; that option was off the table. So what else? He had to dig through all he knew about the former DA, looking back at what he was now and what he had been before.

Because a person's past always affected their present and future. Thorne had been a thorn in Dent's side back when he was on the side of the law. Could there be something else from those law abiding days of his that he still had a connection to?

No, wait, not something. Someone. That was it. That was how he would get back at that two-faced asshole.

"I know," Black Mask stated for all to hear. "If Dent is going to take my plan away from me, then I'll take that pretty little wife of his. Find out where she is and bring her to me. Bring her to me alive because that's the only way this will work. He'll come after her, of course he will. And we'll be waiting with guns aplenty and a bullet with his name on it."

* * *

 _9:38 AM_

It was all over the news.

City Hall was gone, along with everyone that happened to be in the building. They were still pulling corpses out of the rubble, but it wasn't looking good for any survivors.

Stephanie stared at the television, rapt with fascination. Her dad had long since gone to work and her mom was...actually, she didn't know she was.

Clutched tightly in one hand was a spoon, one she had been using to eat her cereal when she had turned on the tube and the _BREAKING NEWS_ banner crossed the screen. Her mouth was gaping wide, trickles of milk leaving white trails down her chin.

This...this was insane! Who in their right mind would detonate a bomb in the middle of Gotham?! Who in their right mind would want to be out in the streets with stuff like that going on?

It had been awhile since her first clumsy attempts at vigilantism, but Stephanie felt she was getting better. The last criminal she stopped hadn't shown her any mercy, though he was still a bit much for her. She had gotten her hands on a metal pipe and beat his face black and blue before he went down. At least she had spoiled his mugging attempt.

Yet, she knew without a doubt she was in over her head. If she felt that way with common thugs, there was no way she stood a chance at going up against the monster that blew up just about everyone in the city gov.

And if she was out of her depth, then that other vigilante was too.

Stephanie finally shut her mouth. This all but confirmed to her that she needed to have a nice, little chat with that girl calling herself Bluebird. She was in serious need of a SPOILER ALERT and she was going to make sure she got it before she got herself killed.

* * *

 _9:39 AM_

"Harper, you have to stop."

The young girl looked startled at her brother. Cullen looked deadly serious, which went against his normally laidback self.

"Stop what?" Harper questioned.

"Your late night stuff. I'm not sure if you heard, but City Hall is gone."

The blue-haired girl looked to their television. It had been going nonstop since the early hours of the morning. Normally Harper would have been out there to help people, but she had some bad tacos the previous night and spent it over the toilet and had just gotten to bed three, maybe four hours ago.

On the screen was a picture of what was left of City Hall. There were people in what looked like hazmat suits were crawling through the wreckage, though there was no telling what they were looking for. Survivors, the source of the blast...both...neither...it was hard to tell.

"I know you want to make a difference like Batman, but no matter what you do, you can't take on a bomb," Cullen continued.

"Which is all the more reason why I need to be out there," Harper countered.

"Why? So you can be blown to bits?!" her brother shouted, gesturing to the T.V. "No way, I can't stand by and let my sister die!"

Harper smiled. "That's sweet of you, Cullen, but I'm not stopping. Can't stop."

"Can't stop?" he repeated exasperatedly. "What does that mean? You're addicted to this? To the adrenaline rush it gives you? Do you know how nuts that sounds?"

To be honest, yeah, she did. There was an adrenaline rush she got, especially after she helped someone. She imagined that's how the others felt, at least in the beginning. She knew where Cullen was coming from, but if Batman couldn't stop this bomb, then that meant he needed more help, not less.

Besides, now that bombs were involved, she would just have to come up with a way to deal with them.

"Are you listening to me?" her brother demanded, pulling her out of her musings.

"Yeah, I hear you Cullen," she said, then sighed. "You have to let me think about this. It's—"

"No! Why would I let you even think you could keep doing something that'll kill you?"

"Because this gives me a purpose!" she yelled back, causing Cullen to flinch back startled. "I know, it's weird, probably stupid even, but before I became Bluebird...you know what I was like. I was just here, doing the 9-to-5 grind. Now look at me. I know I'm different; I feel different and it feels good. I can't go back, not after all of this."

Cullen was silent. "I promise you, I'm going to think about this and real hard. But you have to know just how hard this is for me."

His shoulders sagged. "I...okay, Harper. But seriously think about what I've said. I know you and honestly, I think you've already made your choice."

Harper looked to the TV screen again. She may not be ready to handle a bomb, that much was true, but she would have to. It was time to step up her game.

* * *

 _10:00 AM_

It was a sickening feeling.

Black Canary had stared at the wreckage of City Hall, the magnitude of it hitting her with a gut punch for the ages. She had had setbacks during her time as the Canary, but none of those compared to the despair of failure she felt now.

She should've have searched the building more thoroughly. Instead, she went off on a detour to help Batman. If he hadn't been busy fighting that Killer Croc guy, he would've found the bomb and disarmed it. Then he would've come to fight the reptile man.

It was a rookie mistake and she knew it.

Unfortunately, she had parked her bike too close to the City Hall when she had come here. No doubt it was scrap metal at this point. She was gonna have to make the trek back to the Birdcage on foot.

"Hey, wait up!"

"Now isn't the time for this," Black Canary called out over her shoulder. Green Arrow was running after her across the rooftop and had been for the last couple.

"Will you just wait!" At this, the Emerald Archer caught up to her, his hand falling onto her shoulder. "I know, you're feeling pretty shitty right about now, but right now isn't the time to get lost in your head."

The blonde spun around, knocking the hand off her shoulder. "You have no idea what I'm feeling," she snapped.

"Sure I do," he replied way too damn easily. "You're thinking about how it's your fault, if you had done something different, this wouldn't have happened."

"Is that right?" she said lowly, if not dangerously.

"I can't tell you how many times I've felt that way."

"And how many times has City Hall in Star City blown up?"

"Once, but it was only a wing, not a city block."

"This is making me feel so much better."

Green Arrow's face became serious. "You can't put this all on your shoulders. There were three of us in there and each of us made a decision at some point or another to brought about this result. More importantly, the blame for this is right on the madman that pulled the trigger."

"And while he was pulling that trigger, where were we?" she countered. "We were in a wrestle-mania beatdown in the sewers and not in City Hall looking for that bomb."

"And because we were down there means we weren't caught in the blast."

"What makes you think there would have been an explosion if we had done our jobs?"

"There were, what, fifty more rooms for us to check? That isn't counting the ventilation system and other nooks and crannies throughout the place. Maybe we get lucky and we find the bomb in the next room. I rather doubt it though, since it took us several minutes to find Batman and Killer Croc and our fight didn't go on for much longer than that."

Black Canary turned around, her hair flying behind her head to settle on one shoulder as she began walking away. "You just don't get it, do you?" she said out loud. It was more for herself, but she made sure Green Arrow heard her.

"I get it a lot more than you'd ever know," he returned just as ardently. "Right now you need a break."

"No, no way, not after this."

"Consider yourself on break, then."

"Not this time, Ollie!" she shouted at him as she whipped around.

It took her a moment to realize what she said and she felt her stomach drop. Green Arrow's face had gone pale and he stared at her with wide, if not frightened eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she sputtered out, her hands in front of her mouth. "I...I didn't meat to…"

The blond man looked away. "I guess I'm not the only one to figure something out," he said eventually. "Right, Flower Girl?"

It was her turn to widen her eyes as her face paled. "How did you…"

"Figure it out? Something you said last night. Hell, just now when you refused to take a breather." He finally looked to her. "How about you?"

"I recognized your beard."

There was a moment of silence before, "You gotta be kidding me."

"It's a pretty distinctive beard, you know."

Another pause. "It is, isn't it?"

A weak smile appeared on Black Canary's face. "This isn't the place to go further into this."

"You're probably right. We do need to discuss this though."

"Yes." She sighed. "For now...I think we need to take a break."

"Is that just in general, or as far as our budding relationship is going?"

And she found her smile growing bigger.

* * *

 _11:45 AM_

Dick was tempted to ask how things could get any worse than they already had, but he didn't want to tempt fate into showing how that could happen. A jinx was the last thing anybody needed.

Instead, he'd set himself up in Barbara's place because right now he was not in the mood to be by himself. The past twenty four hours had been tough on a lot of people, and Dick felt that he was one of the ones who had been bearing more of the brunt than others. First, Tim's forced retirement from the Batclan and now Two-face blows up downtown with a dirty bomb. At the rate things were going, they might not have a city anymore.

He had found Barbara hard at work at her station, and it was easy to see that she was trying to distract herself. Through the bits and pieces he had managed to make out, after her call to him last night to stay away from City Hall, she had been busy trying to keep her father away so that he himself wasn't killed. It had been a close one, apparently, and she was still somewhat bothered to how close she had been to losing him.

So Dick did the only thing he could do to comfort her. He did his best to keep her from ruminating on the close call. He gave praise for her actions, and kept her focused on the solid fact that, yes, her father was alive and not about the kick the bucket any time soon.

Now, after spending enough time with her to know how Barbara ticked, she had at least two ways of coping. One she either dived into some kind of project or kept really, really busy so that she didn't have to think about it. The other was she became depressed and overanalyzed everything to the point she was unable to do anything. She had gone through the latter over the past year, ever since her paralysis.

Right now, she was doing the former, the more preferred alternative when compared to what the other option was. However, he knew that anything taken to the extreme was not a good thing either so he was going to have to keep an eye on her. You know, just in case.

"What are you working on now?" he asked, hoping to get her talking. Sitting around in silence was not his idea of a good time.

"Take a look at this," Barbara invited, singling out one of the monitors. "Notice anything?"

Narrowing his eyes, he studied the image presented to him. "That looks like Two-face's car."

"And wouldn't you know it, it was leaving City Hall when the bomb went off. He was there," the computer hacker confirmed. "I've been trying to track his movements since. It's not easy since he likes to avoid the traffic cams. Some CCTV cameras manage to pick him up, so I've been able to narrow an area that he may be hiding in."

"He does have a tendency to hide in clubs," Dick pointed out. "See if there's any around that fit with his MO."

"Doing a search," Barbara confirmed. "While my program does that, I want to show you something else. Last night, I hacked into the phone company and got a lot of data from it."

"Why were you hacking a phone company?" the male vigilante wondered.

"Dad wasn't picking up and I needed to reach him quick. Dead battery, as it turns out," Barbara explained. "However, I found something really odd. Look over here, I'll color the area."

On a monitor that showed the historic area of Gotham, a gray-colored circle marking off a few city blocks.

"You know what that is?" She didn't wait for him to answer, obviously asking a rhetorical question. "That's a dead spot. No one in the last few weeks have made any calls from that area. No signals, no coverage, nothing."

"And this means what?" he asked, mystified by this change in topic.

"I dug into some of my records a bit. Remember that time that I tried to contact you and Tim and you weren't able to hear me? Your transmitters were working fine and everything. Turns out, you were in that circle right there. I couldn't contact you and you couldn't contact me. Again, that shouldn't be happening. Based on all the data I've gathered, I've been led to believe that something is blocking any and all signals in that area."

"Think it could be Two-face?" Dick asked.

"I'm not sure. Based on everything I've collected on him, it doesn't match his style," the wheelchair-bound woman answered. "There aren't any clubs down there, street gangs pretty much claim it. And it's the historic district. Only tourists make it a point to do anything down there. The only landmark is the old Gotham Cathedral and that's right in the middle of that circle. I really, really have no idea of what to make of it."

"Then I guess we'll need to find a way to make something out of it," he quipped. Then he added, "Or find someone who can."

* * *

 _12:56 PM_

Morale was low amongst the members of the task force. You'd have to be blind to not see it.

There was plenty of reason for this. They had been charged to bring an end to Gotham's nightmare and last night was their greatest failure. From a low brought on by the failure of the Thorne convoy to this whole new one, it was easy to see that everyone was ready to throw in the towel.

Sarah perfectly understood this. They had been putting in their time, their sweat, their tears, their blood, and even their lives, and what did they have to show for it? Surrendering to the unstoppable force they faced seemed like the best option right now.

Yet, it was still their duty to continue trying.

"Why?" Bullock had demanded. "What else can we do? We've been running around with our dicks in our hands, jerking each other off, and all we have is a smoking hole in the ground to show for it. How the hell are we supposed to stop this bastard who we can't find and we can't stop?"

Bullock, whether he knew it or not, had crudely summed up the feeling not only in the task force but also the department as a whole.

"How did he get into City Hall to plant that bomb? How did he even build it without anybody knowing?" Montoya asked aloud, trying to keep the briefing on track. "From what footage I can find, there's no signs of him breaking in or leaving before the explosion. So how did he do it?"

"There's a lot of ways," Sawyer answered. "At least in Metropolis, there were."

"So what, he's importing the ways of other criminals into Gotham too?" Bullock asked incredulously. "That's great. That's goddamn terrific."

"I know that we're all hurting right now," Sarah spoke up. "Many of us have lost faith after this. But one thing I know that will not change anything is sarcasm. Whether we like it or not, we are still sworn to upholding the law and apprehending everyone that breaks it."

"Well then, you gotta have some ideas," Bullock stopped her before she could continue speaking. "Motivational speeches aren't going to magically save the city anytime soon."

Despite the interruption, Sarah knew that the lieutenant was right. Unfortunately, ideas were in short supply, even for her. So she was grasping at straws when she turned to Montoya.

"Anything on Gilda Dent? Any movement, any communications?"

"Quiet. She's as she was when he last saw her," Montoya reported, shrugging her shoulders.

"What about the envelopes? Anything new?" she turned to Sawyer, hoping that she didn't appear desperate.

"Only links that go back to the Half Moon Club and the Wild Deuce. Both of which we've already raided and lockdowned," Sawyer answered. "A stash of manila envelopes, the same we found at with Gilda Dent, were found at the Half Moon. It seems that of all his multiple hideouts, that one was the one he spent the most time at."

Which left them with no more leads.

"Then we're going to have to hit the streets, shake down whoever we can who might know anything," Sarah sighed as she voiced her decision. "It's not our best option, but we don't have anything else we can work with."

"We may not have a lot of time anyway," Montoya said. "I've been hearing that the commissioner had submitted a request to the Justice League for their assistance. It's bad when you hear both his supporters and critics agree with that."

Didn't Sarah know that. She couldn't blame Jim for that move; he was just as desperate as her to resolve this. They couldn't move fast enough or process enough information to be able to make a definitive move before the League arrived.

The clock was ticking and everyone knew that there was nothing any of them could do.


	26. Ultimatum

Ultimatum

 _2:27 PM_

Diana's words were on a constant loop in his head. It had been that way since he left Gotham and returned to the cave. He could feel it in his gut as every second ticked away, bringing him that much closer to the Justice League's deadline.

As much as he wanted to be on top of the situation, he wasn't. He was no closer to figuring out Harvey Dent's location than he had been at the beginning of the month. Now he had a second gang headed by Roman Sionis and everything was spiraling out of his control.

He needed to get control back.

Somewhere behind him in the cave, Cassandra was suiting up. She had stationed herself at the super computer until he had returned. The first words he said to her was to suit up and she had done just that.

As much as he didn't want to, they were going to have to brave the daylight hours. They were going on into the afternoon now, which left them a little less than ten hours to go. That wasn't a lot of time to perform a thorough investigation.

Currently he was backing up every bit of data he had on the case onto a thumb drive. This was just part one of what needed to be done. Part two entailed rallying enough help to the cause.

He had Batgirl so far. Hopefully the others would be just as eager.

A minute passed before he received a message that the download was complete. Ejecting the thumb drive out of the port, he shoved it into a pouch on his belt. Turning his chair around, he looked towards Cassandra, seeing the young girl putting the finishing touches on her suit. She was maskless as she made the adjustments to make her armor fit better.

 _Good._ Reaching a hand up to the side of his cowl, he activated his comm link. "Oracle, come in," he said.

There was a pause before he heard the computerized voice answer him. _"This is Oracle, Batman."_

"I need you to send a message to everyone you can," he told her. "I'm calling a meeting to inform everyone of what's going down. I'm sending you the coordinates so that everyone knows where to go."

Oracle was quiet for several moments. _"You...want to meet with everyone? Do they need to bring anything?"_

"Only any relevant information they have on Harvey Dent and the rival gang that attacked the GCPD's caravan the other night. I'll go into more detail at the meeting."

Turning back to the computer, he used one hand to enter the command that sent the specified coordinates to the hacker. "They have half an hour to show up. Anyone that doesn't show up will not be included further."

" _Are you sure? Half an hour isn't a lot of time."_

"It's all the time we can spare now. Batman, out."

And with that, he cut off the line. Taking in a deep breath, he then sighed. Hopefully he knew what he was doing.

* * *

 _2:33 PM_

Jeremiah was not happy about Dr. Quinzel's findings. The neatly typed up report that she had handed in earlier was still on his desk, though in a more crumpled state due to how tightly he had begun to hold it.

Even through the immense exhaustion he found himself experiencing today, the psychiatrist found he couldn't hold back the anger he felt. Each damning word that served to support Hugo Strange to remain in this facility was an insult to him, and he knew, oh he _knew_ , that somehow, someway, the professor had gotten to the young intern.

There was no other explanation for it. She had been supportive in his decision to force Strange out of Arkham and send him over to Blackgate. She had agreed that he was faking before, conning the system to get out of his rightful punishment. So...where had this change of heart come from? It didn't make any sense!

At least, it didn't make any sense if you thought that Quinzel had come to this conclusion on her own. There was no way in hell that she had. Yes, he could almost see the hand holding hers, writing what it wanted and not what needed to be written down.

Jeremiah already recognized that speaking with Quinzel about this was about as futile as trying to convince a Republican to increase funding for mental health care. It wasn't happening despite the lip service to the contrary. Ironically enough, Strange never had much trouble convincing others to do what he wanted before.

That was how he knew that it was that bastard who wrote this report. Even if he hadn't typed it up, he might as well have done so.

Not that the head of the asylum could prove that. Not only was Strange good at making other people his puppets, he was also good at covering his own tracks. On paper at least; his own breach of that schema was recent but it hadn't occurred a second time. Strange had learned from past mistakes and had adapted.

As much as Jeremiah would have wanted to shake some sense into Quinzel, it would be a wasted effort and it would put him on the wrong side of some nasty assault charges. If Strange had Quinzel in his back pocket, there was nothing he could do about that. It angered and infuriated him that he was so helpless in this matter.

The exhausted and frustrated doctor could almost see the smug expression on that bald bastard's face, taunting him with his supposed superiority.

No. No! Jeremiah couldn't let this stand. He had only just escaped Strange's grasp before and he was no longer willing to dance to that man's tune anymore. He had had too much power over his life before and now Jeremiah was not going to bow down simply before his bearded royal highness wanted him to.

There were going to be some words between him and Strange, and they weren't going to be ones that Strange would like. If Strange wanted to be in the asylum so much, then it was going to be far from a pleasant experience for him, Jeremiah determined.

In fact, it was going to be downright unpleasant. And what better way to make that rankle in the bastard's keister than by telling him himself.

Grimly, Jeremiah stood up and left his office, heading down the hallway to confront his former colleague and now sworn enemy. This was something that was long overdue.

And Jeremiah was not going to be backing down from this or from Strange ever again.

* * *

2:56 PM

Opening her mailbox, Gilda Dent reached for its contents and looked through them. Junk mail and a bill for today with nothing extra in it. Just another average day, if this day could be called average.

A bombing downtown had disrupted a lot. Businesses and stores were closed for the day, including hers. All so that emergency services and government agents could seal off the area where City Hall used to be. It sounded like a terrorist attack at first, before…

...before the man that was Two-face claimed responsibility. Even had work not have closed for the day, she would have had to call in sick. Such...such a revelation like this…

She needed to be strong. She couldn't allow the actions of the thing wearing her husband's face tear her down. She got enough pity and sympathy at work, and neither of those two things paid the bills.

Down the street, an unmarked car watched her, two police officers keeping an eye out. They were more interested in anyone who happened to put something into her mailbox rather than removing anything. Gilda had begun to get used to them, knowing exactly what they were there for.

Closing the mailbox shut, she began to head towards her front door as a car drove down the street in front of her home. That car slowed down as it began passing the unmarked car, a sight the working woman did not see due to her back being turned. As the moving car passed the officers, two of the car windows facing them slid open.

The gunshots caused Gilda to freeze up, petrified by the unexpected noise that shattered the suburban quiet. Slowly, she turned her head to look over her shoulder as the offending car came to a stop in front of her house. One of the doors opened and a tall, suited man stepped out, eyes trained on her as he began making his way towards her.

Fear filled her up, jumpstarting her fight or flight instinct. Her brain chose flight and she began running as fast as she could towards her front entrance. Just as she managed to grab the door handle, arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her away. She screamed, squirming in the man's grasp and dropping her mail.

She kicked with her legs, hit with her hands, trying to do anything to escape the person behind her. One of the man's arms slipped away, encouraging her to intensify her struggles. Then a gun barrel was jammed into the side of her face, a voice demanding for her to "quit fighting."

Her fighting lessened as the fear of death took hold. The man abducting her grunted then began dragging her back towards the car. The next thing she knew, she was shoved into the back seat, her tall abductor sliding in and shutting the door behind him.

The car sped away then, leaving the neighborhood and heading into the city proper.

* * *

 _3:00 PM_

They had all came. Seated at the round table, everyone from the Birds of Prey, to Nightwing, to even Green Arrow had heard and accepted his call.

They were in a brightly lit room, one of the bunkers Batman had throughout the city. This one resided in the Bowery, underneath one of the older, decrepit buildings. The room was originally a bomb shelter, but that had been changed after the vigilante found it. After a redesign, it was now mainly concrete with fluorescent light, making it somewhat blinding if one didn't have the proper protective gear.

"Thank you for coming," Batman said, seated in one of the chairs. To his left was Batgirl, who looked more like a child sitting at the grown-ups' table. A couple, like Huntress and Manhunter, were leaned back in their chairs, their arms crossing over their chests. Nightwing was leaning forward in his chair, his arms on the table with his hands clasped together. The rest sat in their chairs calmly, comfortably, their eyes on him.

"As you're well aware of, Gotham is in a state of chaos," he started. "Harvey Dent has taken control of the former Thorne crime family and has been leaving behind a wrath of destruction in his wake. I have been a step behind him at every turn.

"However, Dent isn't the only one out there now. Roman Sionis has returned. He's currently challenging Dent for control of the criminal underworld and things have gotten worse."

Green Arrow raised a hand, causing Batman to stop and look at the blond man. "Umm, question," he spoke, "for those of us not familiar with all of this, who is Roman Sionis?"

"Sionis is also known as the Black Mask. A few years ago, he headed a group known as the False Face Society and attempted to gas the city with a weaponized hallucinogen that elicited a fear reaction. When he was confronted at the Sionis Steel Mill, he managed to get away and has been laying low ever since."

"Ah. That explains a lot."

"So now we have two destructive guys battling each other out to be the top gangster," Huntress summarized. "Just great. Exactly what we need."

"So it's possible this Black Mask guy also has that fear hallucinogen too," Manhunter suggested. "What sort of reaction are we talking about?"

"Imagine your worst fear brought to life," Black Canary said, drawing the attention of the room to her. "Let's say you're afraid of spiders, for example. This gas can make you see a giant spider trying to eat you."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Green Arrow remarked. "You've seen this happen before?"

"More like experienced it," Huntress replied. "Me and the other Birds were dosed with it once." She then glanced to Batman. "Batman too."

"What happened?"

"Well, we did what our instincts told us to do: we fought each other."

"As in you three fought each other?"

"No, the three of us fought Batman, twice. The first time he was drugged, the second time we were."

Green Arrow perked his head up at that. "Twenty bucks says you gals kicked his butt."

"I'll put ten on Batman," Nightwing added quietly.

"We're getting off subject," Manhunter interrupted, glaring at the two men. "Does the GCPD know Black Mask is back? If not, they need to be told."

"No," Batman said. "After the bombing last night, the last thing we want to do is tell the GCPD. There's too strong of a chance someone in the precinct will leak that information to the press and once the press gets a hold of it, the rest of Gotham will panic. We don't need a couple million frightened bystanders making things worse."

"That's a fair point," Manhunter agreed. "That could be the straw that breaks the camel's back."

"There's also the possibility it could add more grease to this fire," Batman added then. "Some of you are unaware of this—the Birds being excluded—but Sionis originally had an assassin he used to kill off unnecessary pieces of his organization. They were called the Phantasm and they eventually realized they were being used. If they heard Sionis was back, it could draw them back as well."

"And the last thing we need now are more dead gangsters," Huntress grunted.

"As interesting as all of this is, why did you call us all here?" Green Arrow then asked. "I really doubt you just wanted to tell us an old mob boss was back."

Batman nodded. "That's correct. In light of everything that's transpired, it's time we all joined forces, pooled our collective efforts, and put an end to this brewing gang war. If this spills out further into the streets than it already has, we'll lose Gotham."

Several eyes widened at his words. Silence hung in the room so thickly, it could've been cut with a knife.

And then, "You can count me in," Nightwing said.

"Same here," agreed Huntress.

Batman turned his head to the Birds, all of whom looked to each other, giving brief nods before returning their collective attention to him. "We're in too," Black Canary said.

Green Arrow raised a hand up to scratch his beard. "I know I'm not normally one of you Gotham kids, but I'm willing to lend my bow to you."

"Way to make this a Lord of the Rings scene," Huntress snarked, smirking at the archer.

"Thank you," Batman said, trying to stop this meeting was going off track again. "However, before we go any further, you must know that we are now under a time constraint. We have until midnight tonight to put a stop to Dent and Sionis."

All eyes were on him again, but this time it wasn't because they were paying attention. "You care to explain that?" Nightwing questioned.

Glancing from face to face, the Dark Knight said, "I've received an ultimatum from the Justice League. They've been contacted by the Governor and their presence has been requested in helping take down Harvey Dent. They've agreed to the request and will be taking over at midnight."

Again, there was silence until Green Arrow broken. "I don't know about the rest of you, but that doesn't sound like a bad idea. I mean, this has been going on for how long now? Several months? And so far no progress has been made on anyone's part. Maybe it's time for someone else to take up the reigns."

"That would be catastrophic," Batman responded. "A big reason why we're able to operate in Gotham is because the criminals are scared of us."

"You mean you," Huntress muttered.

"That fear causes them to hesitate when we arrive at the scene. That hesitation represents the margin between life and death for us. If they don't hesitate and shoot immediately, the chances we're killed increases exponentially. When they hesitate, that gives us a second to disarm them before they get a shot off.

"If the Justice League were to come, we lose that hesitation. The criminals will believe we can't take them down without help from people with powers. It will embolden them. And then Gotham returns to when the Mob controlled the city and innocent people are left as collateral damage.

"That's why we need to end this tonight."

"By whatever means necessary?" Green Arrow retorted.

"By the means at hand. I will not lose this city as long as I have breath in this body. This is our home and we can't surrender it to no one. Not even the Justice League."

* * *

 _3:22 PM_

Leslie eyed her captor, the disfigured man seemingly preferring her company over his men. Currently, her services weren't required, so she remained sitting in her seat, watching the man who denied her her freedom. At some point, Dent had removed the coin that he carried with him and was currently flipping it, again and again without pause.

Like it was some kind of unconscious habit or coping mechanism.

By now, she had heard about the bombing; who wouldn't have? It had been in the other room where Dent had filmed his confession video and spread the word of his involvement. Her glare of disapproval did not appear to have any effect over him.

Time passed with no communication between them. The activity in the other areas of this...place were louder. Where this was, she did not know. What she did know was that she was growing tired of her captivity, as unwanted as it was in the first place.

Finally, unable to stand the silence anymore, she broke. "What do you hope to gain from all this?"

With his unscarred, "good side" facing her, the crime lord blinked before giving a noncommittal "hmm?"

"Everything," she continued. "Destroying this city, killing innocent people, claiming responsibility for the destruction of this city's government, what do you think you are achieving?"

Dent snorted. "Is that all, Dr. Thompkins?" he almost drawled.

"You're on a dark path, Harvey," she told him frankly. "The longer you continue it, the more certain your end becomes. This can only end one of two ways: your death or your imprisonment."

"You show such concern for me," Dent smirked, never pausing once in his coin flipping. "Have I grown on you?"

"I care not for the mindless destruction and pointless taking of life," the doctor retorted in disapproval. "That includes you. Even a life like yours, no matter how despicable, remains sacred."

"After all this, you claim that my life is as sacred as the next person? Perhaps instead of caring about what may or may not happen to me, you should care more about what happens to you," Dent replied. "If you've forgotten already, let me remind you that at any time I can end your life. Whether it's because I want to, or if you piss me off with more of that bleeding heart crap, or I happen to feel like it. It doesn't matter. You're only here because I will it."

"We both know that's a lie," she stated, staring Dent down with unblinking eyes.

"And why's that?" Dent challenged, turning his head slightly so that a slight portion of his scarred half came into view.

"We both know that that coin you're flipping decides what you do or don't do," Leslie said, a degree of scorn leaking into her voice as she mentioned the flipping object. "Heads or tails, or good heads or bad heads. You won't make a decision to kill me without consulting it first."

"Is that a challenge?" Dent growled as he turned to face her fully, shooting a glare of his own at her.

"Do you perceive it as? I believe I was stating a fact." Leslie chose not to direct her gaze at the man but to the coin that continued to be flipped without fail. "I don't believe I have ever seen you make any decision without at least consulting it. Tell me, did you flip it before you pressed the button to that explosive?"

The coin flipping stopped abruptly as Dent snatched it out of the air, his knuckles turning white from the tension he placed in his grip. "You think I always need my coin, is that it?" Pulling out and aiming his gun at the doctor, he growled, "Shall I show you how independent I am?"

If he was trying to intimidate her, the disfigured man was failing. Leslie did not say a word, just stared dispassionately back. While the situation was dangerous, she was not about to back down from it. She would not.

Dent adjusted his grip on his instrument of death, steadying the weapon when there was a slight tremor that ran along it. For a moment, Leslie found herself wondering if what she felt now was what her old friend Thomas had once felt when a gun like the one aimed at her had been pointed at him. Then he had his wife and child while she had no such person to protect behind her. Would Dent pull the trigger, just like that gunman from so many years ago had?

A bodily tremor shook the gun, and Dent's eyes darted to his clenched hand momentarily.

Leslie narrowed her eyes. "What's the matter, Harvey? Unable to decide?"

"I'm wondering if you're worth the bullet," Dent snarled back.

"I see," Leslie nearly deadpanned. "Do you need to flip for that as well?"

"Don't test your luck."

"Then do it already," the doctor ordered. "Take control of your life, Harvey. If you want to shoot me, then shoot me. Don't use the coin. Don't use that crutch."

Dent stared at her, probably wondering if she herself had lost her mind. Leslie wondered if she had herself, but she had committed herself. Backing down was not an option.

"Heh. You have guts," Dent chuckled, sweat beading on his forehead. "You...what do you think you're going to accomplish by having me shoot you? Feeling suicidal?"

Leslie did not know what she sought to accomplish or why she was challenging this man as she was. The fact that he hadn't, that was something to grab onto. The hesitation he was displaying, it meant something. At least, she hoped it did.

"Not in the slightest. I happen to believe that we are all in control of our actions. What we choose to do, what we choose not to do, it is all our choice. No one and nothing can change that. Whether or not you say you chose to destroy City Hall does not matter so long as it was your choice and not something else dictating you. Because that is the sign of a man afraid of choice."

Dent grunted. "Is that what you think? That I'm afraid of choice?"

"I don't know, are you?" Leslie raised her eyebrow in question.

The sounds of footsteps outside the room interrupted the intensity of the moment. "I don't have time for this," Dent said as he holstered his gun, the door opening as one of the crime lord's twin lackeys came into sight. Shooting a look at the freckled man, Dent demanded, "What do you want?"

"Some of the guys are thinking about heading into the city, you know, making sure everybody knows that we're not afraid of anything they throw at us," the twin, Min Leslie believed, answered.

"Looks like we'll have to cut this short," Dent said mostly to her as he stood up and adjusted his suit. "I'll be out in a minute," he told Min. "Nobody does anything until I say so."

"Got it," Min nodded before moving out of sight.

"So you insist on continuing this path?" Leslie stated more than asked.

"There's no going back after this Thompkins. There's no choice but to stay the course," Dent said as he began walking away. "Besides, I'm not done yet. I still have some unfinished business with Black Mask. I doubt he's going to take me stealing his bomb plot away from him without getting back at me. Now he's gotta pull something, and I'll be ready to put two in his head when he does."

* * *

 _4:39 PM_

Nightwing had already taken off, heading to the coordinates provided by Batman. Even though it was still daylight out, it seemed there would be no rest for the righteous. That included her.

It was obvious by now that they could no longer sit on their asses as this conflict grew larger and larger with ever increasing stakes. That also meant upping their game, and Barbara was going to do that by locating where Two-face was hiding and spreading that information to all the right people.

Those people would have to be the vigilantes. The GCPD had their hands full with isolating what was left of City Hall.

So far, she had been able to narrow down the whereabouts of her target to a few city blocks. That was smaller than an entire community, which was where she had left off earlier to do that task that had come from the Dark Knight himself. Then it was back to business, trying desperately to find something, anything.

Right now, she was starting a search on the locations of any clubs in the area that she had pinpointed to be the most likely location of Two-face's current base. His MO had had him setting up shop in various clubs, whether their purposes were for gambling, socializing, or entertainment. What were the odds that he would change drastically at this point?

Meanwhile, she still needed to figure out what that dead space in the historical section of the city was all about. As she had mentioned to Dick before he had suited up, it wasn't natural. Phone signals, radio signals, anything that sent a signal should be leaving that area. With technology as developed as it was and the power of Wifi connecting more and more people, to have a dead space like that in an urban environment? No freaking way.

That meant some more digging, the kind that required a manual touch. She had to dig into some deep places, but she had managed to find something that might account for it.

A signal jammer, and a very sophisticated one. Top of the line, and kept hush hush. No sense letting anybody know of it.

That was a weird way of looking at it, since the hacker bet that you could make some serious bank off of producing and selling such things. With the flip of a switch, you could cancel out any and all signals be they radio, digital, and even of the satellite variety. That last one brought up a lot of problems, as a lot of private interests would get up in arms should someone use one of these jammers on their satellites.

Then there was the fact that certain government agencies with the nasty habit of spying on people would loathe such a device. It would make their jobs of listening on conversations all that much more harder.

Put it all together, that meant someone in the historical district didn't want to chance anybody listening in on them. It was deliberate. So who in Gotham would want to deliberately hide themselves like that? One of the obvious answers was Two-face, but nothing in that area fit that man's MO—

Oh, the search was done. Funny how she was starting to go over modus operandi there. Okay, what was there?

 _The Second Chance_.

If there was nothing that blatantly said that this was Two-face's newest base of operations, Barbara didn't know what would. There was something poetic about that name. Perhaps this would be their second chance at taking this maniac down once and for all. First, she needed some visuals.

Efficiently, she did just that, her eyes narrowing in anticipation. Oh yeah, this was a dead ringer. Unfortunately, there were no CCTV cameras in the area and the traffic cams had been deactivated some time ago. That meant there was no footage of anything happening in that area in the last twenty-four to thirty-six hours.

Might as well turn them back on.

As she did so, she did not notice when the dead space that hovered over the historical district disappeared from her screen. She noticed when a sharp hiss sounded from her speakers, a voice interrupting all broadcasts.

Jerking her head up, she stared at her speakers as the voice issued a challenge, one directly to Two-face. There was something about that voice, something that was familiar about it. She couldn't quite place it though.

Quickly she looked back down to the video feed she was obtaining from the Second Chance. Moments later, there was flurry of activity, men matching the descriptions of those involved in Two-face's criminal empire flooding out of the club.

And there he was, Two-face.

The man approached the bi-colored sedan that was nearly a trademark of his. He was leaving.

"This is Oracle," she immediately tapped into the channel she knew Batman was using. "I have confirmation on Two-face's whereabouts."

* * *

 _4:41 PM_

How does one get a message to a person whom they have no idea of their current whereabouts?

Black Mask's solution to that problem had been to broadcast that message all over the city. Even though it exposed him a way he had not planned on and put at risk any operatives he may or may not have in the field, his fury at his rival was too great to stop him.

Since he currently did not have the equipment to do such a broadcast, nor did he have the patience to steal any from news outlet, he made due with what he had. Necessity was the progenitor of innovation, and innovative he needed to be.

The signal jammer he was using to mask his presence was the key. All he needed to do was do some rewiring and patching so that the device could not only block signals but send them out. The power the jammer held itself should be more than enough to overpower every other broadcast in the city, so he didn't have to worry about what medium to use, like radio or television. Due to time constraints, he would have to shut down the jamming functions momentarily. A risk, but one he was willing to take.

"This is Black Mask speaking. I have a message for Harvey Two-face Dent. If you think you were so clever to steal my credit and get away with it, you are sorely mistaken. You should know better than to steal someone else's thunder. So I'm returning the favor. You may have taken my glory, but I have taken your pretty little wife. If you want to see her again, come and find me if you can. You have until dusk before I spill the blood of the innocent. Good luck."

A short and sweet message. That's all it needed to be. Black Mask was not in the mood to talk himself hoarse anyway. And now, all he needed to do was wait. There was no doubt in his mind that Two-face would come and that he would find him. All that ugly son of a bitch had to do was press Zucco for some answers.

And those were answers the mobster had been given permission to tell beforehand.

Looking over at his captive, the shivering woman who was trying to shrink herself as much as possible, completely unnerved by Jones' unwavering gaze, he said casually, "This isn't anything personal, Mrs. Dent. Your husband, however, cross a line he had no business crossing. And now you have to pay the price for it. You better pray that Harvey shows up to save you, otherwise I might have to give you to Mr. Jones over there."

A toothy grin parted Jones' face, further traumatizing Gilda.

Amused at the sight, Black Mask directed his attention back to the matter at hand. The clock was running, and if Two-face was smarter than he looked, it wouldn't take him more than an hour to reach here.

And Black Mask would be waiting for him with a lead-based welcoming.


	27. Evil vs Evil

Evil vs Evil

 _5:50 PM_

Bluebird hurried over the rooftop, making sure to stick close to its ledge. She wanted a good look at the street below in case something went down—a robbery, assault, rape, anything really.

It was early to boot. The sun was just starting to set, turning the sky into increasingly brilliant shades of orange and red. Because of what went down last night, the blue-haired girl had no doubt Gotham's bad guys would be embolden and be out in force.

Slowly down her jog as she reached the end of the roof, Bluebird pulled out her grapple line and shot it to the building across the alleyway. Tugging on the line to make sure it was anchored good, she then stepped off the ledge, swinging through the air until she reached the side of the other building. She braced herself with her legs, appearing to be standing at a ninety degree angle to anyone down on the street.

Using the rope, she climbed up it until she reached the top, getting her arms on the ledge before pulling herself up. She was normally a little more athletic than this, but last night's food poisoning had sapped her of some strength and energy. Tonight, she was going to take it as easy as she could, even if she looked rather clumsy doing it.

So naturally, as she began to get onto her feet, she ran into someone.

Bluebird blinked her eyes, unsure if she was seeing what she was seeing. There was a person standing several feet away, holding themselves confidently. She couldn't have been taller than her, maybe even an inch or so shorter. Why did Bluebird refer to this person as a she?

What man would choose bright pink as a costume.

Yeah, this girl was in head to toe pink, from the hood on her head, to the cape that hung down her back, to the tight sweatpants she wore. Aside from the boots, gloves, and mask, it was a standing pink blob.

"I've been looking for you for a long time," the pink thing declared.

Again, Bluebird found herself blinking owlishly. "Me?" she asked puzzledly.

The girl pointed a finger at her. "That's right. You and I have some business that needs to be taken care of and, spoiler alert, we are going to take care of it."

"Who... _are you_ , exactly?"

She pressed her gloved hands against her hips, standing proudly. "I am the Spoiler."

"What, like you spoil food? Or you make sure people don't eat spoiled stuff?"

Despite the mask, Bluebird could feel the daggers this Spoiler girl was glaring at her. "No, you moron! I spoil the plans of bad guys and amateur vigilantes."

 _Amateur vigilantes?_ For some reason, Bluebird felt that last remark was aimed at her and she didn't like it. This time she was the one that scowled. "Alright, amateur, I've just had enough of you."

"Why's that? The truth hurts?" the pink girl taunted.

"Because I don't have time to mess around with someone wearing their mother's exercise spandex." She had scored a huge hit as Spoiler stiffened at the insult. Pulling out her taser gun, Bluebird hefted it up and rested it behind her head across her shoulders. "Now, why don't you run along home before I zap you full of jolts."

"You're one to talk," Spoiler spat back. "Tell me, 'Bluebird,' how much good do you honestly think you're doing? Not a lot, I bet. In fact, I'd say you make things worse more than better."

Bluebird frowned. Mostly it was because this person knew her vigilante name. Pretty much no one did at this point, aside from maybe a handful of people. That meant this girl was someone she had helped once. She sure as hell wasn't Nightwing or Robin.

"How many people have you helped only to get yourself hurt, huh?" Spoiler continued on. "Is it more than the ones you tried to save? It probably is, which means you're not cut out for this. You're better off leaving it in the hands of the professionals."

Oh, so this is where this was going. Did Cullen put someone up to this? The moment she had that thought, she immediately discarded it. Though her brother had obvious reservations, he wasn't going to involve another person in it; that would mean he had to have told someone and he wasn't going to do that.

"You know, not everyone who does this started off as an expert," she pointed out. She lowered her gun, letting it dangle at her side. "It takes some experience and the more I do this, the better I get."

"That still doesn't excuse your failures. If you do fail, it's the victim that pays for it."

"Which only fuels the drive to become better."

Spoiler snorted. "Oh yeah? Then tell me this: how much better do you need to be to stop the City Hall bombing? If you had involved yourself in that, you'd be dead. Spoiler alert, you're not cut out for this."

Okay, this spoiler alert thing was really getting annoying. "You're right, I'm not ready for something on that scale, but you know what? I have to at least try. Trying is a whole lot better than not trying at all. How would you feel going through life never trying? If I didn't, I'd be stuck in minimum wage job, rotting away until I died. I don't think you know how much that sucks to know that is a very likely future for you."

"Umm…" the girl stammered.

"Look, I get where you're coming from, but right now this city needs all hands on deck. If the people don't stand up for Gotham, who will?"

As if that were a cue, the sound of rather loud motorcycles rang out. Looking over the edge of the roof, Bluebird found her eyes widening.

The motorcycles in question were sleek, custom-made. On them were three colorfully-dressed women. If she wasn't mistaken, they were vigilantes and ones that worked with Batman. They raced down the street, clearly on some sort of mission.

"What's going on there?" Spoiler asked with surprise.

"Something's going down," Bluebird said, excitement welling up in her voice. "Why else would they be out with the sun still up?" She was on the move, surprising Spoiler. However, the pink-clothed girl began following her.

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"Where else? Where those heroes are going," Bluebird responded. "Something's up and I don't want to miss it."

* * *

 _6:30 PM_

Tires screeched to a halt in front of the Gotham Cathedral. Shoving open the sedan's door himself, Two-face stepped out of the vehicle and led the way to the large doors that made up the chapel's entrance. He ignored the warning sides that stated this place was an active construction site and undergoing renovations.

He had brought with him as much muscle as he could afford to bring, brought Min and Max to be at his side, hell, even dragged Zucco along with him. Time to see what Tony was capable of. He was not going into this under armed, and anybody who could hold a gun was with him. The twins easily took up positions on either side of him while his men surrounded the three of them. Zucco was somewhere in the mix.

The doors themselves were open, unlocked in anticipation for his arrival. Behind the two-faced man, the sun itself could be seen approaching the horizon. The deadline for his arrival was approaching, and he was early on all accounts.

It was deeper in this holy sanctum that he found the man who dared to contest his claims over the city. In the church's sanctuary, Black Mask stood on the dais waiting for him. He had a grouping of suited men behind him, obviously other gangsters and mobsters who refused to join under the former district attorney's rule. Above them, the colorful mosaic of a stained glass window filtered the dying light from outside into the massive chamber.

There was one who really stood out; a large, grey-colored man who from this distance appeared to have actual scales. So where had Black Mask found this circus freak? And didn't he know how to put on a shirt?

But the centerpiece of this gathering was none other than the man in the black skull mask himself. And beside him was the damsel in distress herself, Gilda…

Gilda…

No, steel your resolve. Show no weakness here.

"Glad you could make it, Harv," Black Mask greeted lightly. "We've been expecting you."

Coming to a stop, Two-face glared at the masked face of his competition. He refused to look anywhere else other than that grinning visage. At his side, the disfigured crime lord held his gun, the barrel pointed at the floor for the moment, but that could change at any second.

"I'm only going to say this once, let her go," Two-face ordered. "This is between you and me, Sionis."

"On the contrary. It's because of you that we're all here," Black Mask retorted. "What did you think was going to happen when you stole my glory from me?"

"I'll tell you what I didn't expect. I didn't expect you to act like a child about it," came the quip. "This is low, even for you."

"I don't know what's sadder, that you think there are standards in this line of work or that you have to mooch off others' genius in order to prove to others you are tough shit," Black Mask deflected back. "This is a lawless world you find yourself in Dent; there's no such thing as lows."

"Perhaps, but I had expected more from you. After that trap on that cruise ship, the quarry, bombing City Hall, I had expected more from you." The right side of Two-face's face smirked. "Consider me disappointed that you lowered yourself to simple kidnapping. Anybody can do that."

"Everything has a reason for it. You think I'd just stop at kidnapping," the masked crime boss shot back. "Gilda here is just bait for a little trap. One to put you out of your misery, Dent. But don't worry too much. As soon as I'm done with you, I'll put the missus here out of her misery. That way you both can be together in whatever afterlife you believe in. Hell, probably."

As Black Mask spoke, the doors to the church's sanctuary opened as members of the Skullz street gang filed in, aiming their own guns at the group of large, bi-colored men. The remnants of the Two-Ton Gang turned to face this new threat with the realization that they were now trapped between two hostile groups with no way out.

"Do you see now?" Black Mask taunted. "Your time as the big man on campus is over. It was fun while it lasted, but Gotham is mine. It's always has been. I'm just here to take it back from the loser who picked it up where I put it down."

"Where you dropped it when you ran away like a coward," Two-face sneered. "Whatever claims you had on it, you gave it up. And now you're back like some toddler wanting a toy some other kid picked up. You're less classy than that suit you're wearing."

"Fashion advice from you? Don't make me laugh," the masked mobster chuckled. "Though, it might be a bit late for that. I've been having a good laugh at your expense for some time. To think a smart guy like you would fall for so many obvious traps, it's a wonder you've lasted this long. I mean, do you really think that it would be so easy for someone to infiltrate _my_ organization?"

"Let me guess, you sent Zucco over to me, didn't you?" Two-face spoke as if he was stating a fact, something that made his rival pause for a second.

"You figured that one out, didn't you?" Black Mask said after a moment.

"I had my suspicions after the cruise ship. Kept him around so I didn't make you suspicious, but you can bet I stopped listening to him," he remarked, looking over his shoulder and finding Zucco fidgeting. "Why don't you go join your real team. While I'm feeling generous."

Zucco obeyed the command, the gangster slipping out from within the ranks of the Two-Ton Gang and taking his place over by Black Mask. Angry eyes from his men followed him, all swearing some form of retribution on the double agent.

"Maybe I spoke too soon. You're just as smart as I expected," Black Mask remarked.

"You want to know something else?" Two-face grinned maliciously. "It wasn't from Zucco that I found out that you were hiding out here."

"Then I hope you don't mind if I ask where you heard that from," was the immediate question that came after.

"Maybe you know this name. Eddie Foster." He almost purred the name out, enjoying how Black Mask stiffened at it. "He didn't really agree to how you were doing things and came to me with all the dirt I could want on you. Too bad he couldn't pass the test. Bad heads."

"Then you saved me the effort of finding and skinning him alive." You could hear how...displeased the masked man was at the news. Almost seething.

"I guess you need higher standards for your recruitment then," Two-face taunted. "Seems like if anything has been dropping, that has."

Pulling Gilda closer to him and placing the barrel of his gun against her neck, the woman whimpering at the pressure pressed against her flesh, the mobster threatened, "Don't tempt me Dent. I'm more than willing to speed up my timetable."

"If there is anything you're going to regret, it's harming her," Two-face threatened back. "I'll say this only one more time. Release her. This is between the two of us."

"Harvey…" Gilda whimpered, her face pleading for him to save her.

Please don't look that way at him. Gilda, you should never be looking at him that way.

"No, this is between whoever I say it's between," Black Mask corrected. "You put your guns down, Dent. Put them down on the floor where we can all see them. Do it now before I splatter her brains all over this church."

"Don't you dare." Contrary to the order, Two-face tightened his grip on his gun.

"I won't repeat myself," Black Mask warned, forcing another whimper out of Gilda.

"You hurt her, you're dead," Two-face roared. "You hear me? Dead!"

"That's rich coming from a dead man!" Black Mask fired back.

So involved where the two mob bosses, their heated argument so distracting, none paid any attention to the large stained glass window above them or the growing black shape that began to blocking out the light beaming through it. This shape also happened to look a lot like a bat.

Everyone's attention was diverted to it immediately as it shattered, a dark shape crashing through the glass. Spinning projectile flew from it, striking the guns out of both crime lords' hands, Gilda giving a cry in surprise.

Through the air, the shape barreled into the gathering of Skullz, knocking the grouping over like they were bowling pins. As the remaining Skullz scattered to the sides of the cathedral's sanctuary, the Batman rose to his full height, glaring every single one of them down.

"This ends now."

* * *

 _6:41 PM_

The wind whipped through Huntress' hair as she pressed herself on top of the bike.

" _We need to go after Dent, but also rescue Leslie Thompkins. That means two teams."_

Off to her right, Katana and Manhunter were on their own motorcycles, keeping pace with her. Thanks to Oracle, they had the location of Two-Face's latest hideout, which was most likely where Dr. Thompkins was.

" _I'll be going after Dent," Batman said. "Batgirl will also be with me. For the other group, Huntress will be lead with—"_

" _Like hell I am!" the purple-clad woman protested._

It wasn't her first choice to be honest. After all this time patrolling with the Bat, she had thought that earned her a seat at the big showdown, not rescue duty. It had pissed her off.

" _I need you to see Leslie to safety," the dark-clad man told her. "You're the only one I can trust to make sure she gets out of there safely. Take whoever you need, but the main objective is to get her out of here. I'd do it myself, except that would put Dent on high alert and who knows if he's booby trapped this new place of his. If he sees me, he's less like to do something that drastic."_

After hearing something like that, it was hard to argue. She wasn't given this side-mission because she was a lesser hero; it was because the Bat didn't trust anyone else to get it done. There was something humbling about that.

Immediately, she had picked Katana. The Asian woman's skill would be invaluable. She had debated on whether to bring Black Canary too, but thought that would be sticking it to Manhunter, as if to say they were the originals and she was fortunate to be around. So she picked the other woman, not because she pitied her, but because Manhunter had some serious firepower.

That was all she needed or wanted, which left the rest to go with Batman. Normally, they'd be rushing over there closer to dusk, but they were on a time table. Honestly, she didn't see as much harm with having the Justice League around, but she could understand Batman's trepidation. Perhaps he had a point about it all.

Perhaps he really just wanted Leslie Thompkins safe.

Making a turn, the three vigilantes headed down the new straight before taking another turn. Much like the previous places, Dent had shacked up in a club, this one closed much like the Half-Moon Club. At least that was the report from Oracle after she had caught sight of Two-Face's car and backtracked it.

Which is where they were heading. After another turn, it was within sight. The neon lights were off and there were a couple of men standing outside talking.

"It's up ahead," Huntress said on the comm link.

" _I see it,"_ Manhunter replied. _"How do you want to do this?"_

"We go in hard and fast. Don't give them a chance to breathe."

Turning the throttle, the engine of her bike roared as Huntress sped up. By then, the men outside the club had noticed their approach and were scrambling to pull out their guns.

Leaning backwards, the purple-clad vigilante pulled the front tire off the ground, the motorcycle balancing on the back wheel. This caused the guards to dive out of the way as she ran right into the club's door, bursting through it.

Behind her, Manhunter followed, with Katana turning her bike to a side, skidding across the ground horizontally. This time, two of the guards weren't able to get out of the way and took the brunt of the bike hitting them, sending them flying over the vehicle and crashing hard onto the ground.

Huntress held her front wheel up as she sped down the short corridor. Reaching the end, she plowed through another door, this one opening into the main room. She finally dropped the wheel down, the bike roughly bouncing before she turned towards her right. Manhunter joined her soon after, slowing to a stop.

Throughout the room were more of Two-Face's men, all startled by their arrival. However, there were plenty of them scrambling for their guns.

Swinging herself off her motorcycle, Huntress pulled out a smoke pellet and through it on the floor at her feet. Smoke erupted all around her, blinding her, but making her disappear from sight. Since Manhunter was right next to her, she too was cloaked in the smoke.

The two women then double-backed, heading for the doorway they forcibly opened. Emerging from the smoke cloud, they then darted off into different directions. Heading to her left, the right of the doorway, Huntress threw a H-shaped shuriken, watching it fly through the air until he collided with the hand of one of the gunmen. The projectile knocked the weapon out of his hand as he yelped out in pain and surprise.

Immediately, Huntress closed the distance on the man, leaping into the air, leaning back as she extended a leg out in front of her. Her flying kick slammed into the man's face, knocking him right off of his feet and sending him crashing to the floor.

That was when a loud explosion rang out, causing the purple-clad woman to jerk her head around. Manhunter had gone in the other direction, her staff in hand. There was already a thug at her feet, but she held the staff in both hands, one end glowing with light. Even as the smoke cloud was beginning to dissipate, Huntress couldn't see through it just yet, but she could see blacker smoke above the cloud. Apparently, Manhunter had fired a blast to another part of the room.

Part of Huntress was pleased. What was a little bit of damage during a fight?

The other part of her, however, was pissed. What if Manhunter took out a wall, where Leslie may be held? Suddenly, the purple-clad woman was understanding why she had been watched so closely during her last days with the Birds.

Huntress forcibly turned away so that she could focus on the next thug. She'd reprimand later, right now she needed to make sure she didn't get killed.

* * *

 _6:47 PM_

The first blow did not come from Batman.

It wouldn't have considering there were two heavily-armed gangs, either pointing their guns at him or each other. One move from anyone would've set off a chain-reaction that left a lot of people dead.

The first blow did come from Batgirl.

As a black blur, she soared through the shattered window, one arm swinging out in front of her. A rapid fire of clashing sound as small, metal devices struck and stuck to the guns. The gunmen hesitated as they looked down at the devices in confusion.

Then the devices exploded, damaging the assault rifles and handguns, causing the men either drop the broken weapon in surprise, or throw them away to protect themselves.

Regardless, that's when Batman struck.

Leaping towards the closest thug—one that belonged to the Two Ton Gang—he drew a fist back and then swung it, nailing the man in the head and causing it to snap to a side. As Batman's arm crossed his body, he then swung it back across, backhanding his foe as he quickly followed that up with a punch from his other fist. Using his momentum, the vigilante spun around as he extended a leg out. The heel caught the man across the face as he was turning it to look back at him, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor.

As Batman completed the spin, he had two bat-shaped shuriken in hand. With practiced ease, he sent them flying through the air as he stopped spinning, watching long enough to see them collide with the heads of two more thugs, knocking them out cold before they hit the floor.

That's when Batgirl flew through his sight. Arms raised to shoulder height and legs squeezed together, her feet slammed into the face of an unsuspecting Two-Face thug, knocking him off his feet and forcing his head to crash hard on the floor. Her legs bent at the knee as they coiled before she sprang off the man, using him as a springboard as she did a backflip through the air. As it so happened, there was a man just within arms distance and both of her hands grabbed onto his shoulders by his jacket. As the lithe girl swung down to land on her feet, she leaned backwards and pulled hard on the punk, her little maneuver actually lifting the man off the floor and sending him flying wildly through the air. He screamed as his arms and legs whipped around wildly until he crashed into two Skullz members. The three men collapsed to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs.

In the meantime, Batman was onto the next thug, another Two Toner. The gang member froze in fear at his approach that the vigilante was able to grab him by his shirt and pull him towards him. At the same time, he threw a fist, slamming it into his face. Over and over, he punched the man, each blow causing his legs to buckle more and more until Batman was literally leaning over him, delivering one last punch to ensure he was out.

That was when a gunshot rang out and a bullet whizzed by the Dark Knight's head. Jerking his head up, he saw a Skullz member holding a handgun and firing another shot, this one also missing. That was all he was able to fire as Batgirl came sliding across the floor, her legs scissoring together at the right moment to wrap around the gunman's legs. This threw the man's balance off and when combined with Batgirl's sliding, knocked his feet fright out from under him. He landed hard on his stomach, his gun clattering across the floor as he lost his grip on it.

Batgirl then suddenly rolled over his body from feet to head. There was no telling what she did, but the end result was her back on her feet and man's face face down on the floor and unmoving.

Reaching to his belt, Batman pulled out his grapple gun and fired it at one of the Skullz close to where Dent and Sionis were—at least where he had first seen them. They had disappeared as a scuffle broke out, Two Ton and Skullz attacking each other. The grapple claw attached itself to one of the Skullz, causing him to stop punching a Two Toner.

Then with a smirk, Batman hit the retraction button even as he pulled the grapple backwards.

* * *

 _6:55 PM_

Bluebird knew she had found the right place when she saw several men lying unconscious outside of a building. The doors were smashed inward and there was only one motorcycle parked outside. That meant the other two were...well, not in front.

Yeah, yeah, so she wasn't that much of a detective; neither was the girl following her.

Spoiler came up behind her, panting and gasping. It was pretty clear she was out of shape. And she was the one telling her to quite crime-fighting.

"You run pretty fast...you know that?" Spoiler gasped as she hunched over, hands pressed into her knees to hold herself up. "I'm...not too shabby...either…"

"Sure, you're not." Bluebird stayed at the corner of the alley, looking at the damaged club. Faintly, she could pick up the sound of gunfire.

So the fighting was still in progress.

Hoisting up her taser gun, Bluebird swept the area with her eyes before she bolted for the door way. There was a surprised yelp from Spoiler, but soon after she was running after the blue-haired girl if the sound of footsteps behind her were any indication.

Once she reached the front door, the young vigilante pressed herself next to the door frame and then peeked in. All she saw was a short hallways and another set of doors that were busted in. There was no sign of bad guys, so Bluebird darted inside, stopping again at the next threshold.

"Hold it. Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Spoiler hissed behind her, her voice low and harsh.

"What does it look like?" Bluebird shot back.

"It looks like you're ignoring everything I told you."

Well, when you were right. "Funny, I had the feeling that's what it looked like. You better stay here."

"Uh uh, not without you."

"Then you better keep your head down. It's about to get crazy."

Bluebird dashed into the room taser gun at the ready. She had been primed to go, but all of that building energy turned out to be for nothing. The main party room was a mess. Bullet holes decorated the walls, along with several men lying on the floor in various states of unconsciousness. Their guns were on the floor too, along with strange looking metal H's. One part of the wall was demolished too, revealing a room next to it. And to add to the scene, two motorcycles were parked nearby.

Well, it didn't look like her help was needed here.

"Geez, what happened here?" Spoiler asked as she came to stand next to the blue-haired girl. "It looks like a warzone."

That was when the sound of gunfire rang out, distant and muffled, but still distinct. Both girls looked to a partially-opened door. Slowly, they began to creep to it.

When they reached it, the door was thrown open, a guy in street clothes running right into them. He looked as if he had been roughed up and was clearly running for his life. Only problem was, Bluebird squeezed the trigger to her taser gun and fired an electrical blast right into his chest. The man screamed as he was thrown backwards, falling hard to the floor where he laid twitching.

"Holy crap," Spoiler gasped. "That thing packs a punch!"

"Yeah, it kinda does," Bluebird agreed as she slowly edged to the guy. He was definitely not getting up anytime soon. Sure he was down, she then ventured forth into the damaged corridor, eyes open for any other threats.

There were a few more unconscious men here too and all of them looked as if they had seen better days. Damn, those other vigilantes didn't mess around, did they? "Where did you guys go," Bluebird muttered to herself as she made her way down the hall.

At least that was until a door behind the two girls was flung opened. Spinning around, the two saw a man with a machine gun, a rough looking guy too. Oh, and did she mention pissed?

"Get down!" Bluebird shouted as she aimed her taser gun. Immediately, Spoiler ducked to a side to get out of the way.

Unfortunately, the thug immediately followed her, keeping the pink-clad vigilante between them.

Seeing this, Spoiler darted to the other side, only for the man to do the same. For some reason he didn't use his own gun, but that was probably because he saw the size of Bluebird's taser gun and it was clearly bigger than his machine gun.

It seemed Spoiler had enough of this game though, as she suddenly lunged forward and stomped her foot down on the man's foot. The guy yelped as he hopped onto one foot. Spoiler then threw her arms out in front of her and pushed the man backwards, causing him to stumble several steps.

Finally, Bluebird had a clear shot as Spoiler dropped to one knee. Pulling the trigger, she fired another blast of electricity, hitting her target and causing him to scream. The moment she released the trigger, he slowly dropped to his knees, then onto his stomach, smoke rising from his body.

"Holy crap, holy crap," Spoiler chanted lowly. "That...was...awesome…"

Bluebird raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. Why was she so giddy and surprised?

Then she did a complete three-sixty as she shot up onto her feet and spun around to face the blue-haired vigilante. "Okay, are you done here? Let's get out of here."

Seriously? She was still on about this?" "You've got to be kidding," Bluebird deadpanned. "We just got here and there is seriously something going down. Now are you going to get your panties in a knot, or are you gonna actually try to do something meaningful?"

She got the feeling Spoiler was looking at her in confusion. "What are you talking about, meaningful?"

"What, you thought I was only doing this for kicks? Sorry, Pinkie, but—"

Bluebird found herself coming up short, mostly because she felt the cool touch of a sharp blade against her throat. She could faintly feel someone's breath on the back of her neck, which caused the hairs there to stand up. Spoiler was completely silent as she stared at the figure behind her.

"Who are you two?" a soft voice asked.

"Uhh...ahhh," Spoiler stammered.

Suddenly, Bluebird found herself shoved against a wall and a chick in yellow and red was in front of her, her sword still against the blue-haired girl's throat. She only spared a glance at Spoiler before staring hard at Bluebird. "Identity yourself," she demanded.

"I-I-I'm Bluebird," she managed to get out. With a slight nod of her head towards her silent pink friend, she continued, "And that's Spoiler."

"Why are you here?"

"We heard something going down and wanted to see if we could help."

"Yeah, that's exactly it," Spoiler agreed, finally finding her voice. "But if you want us to leave, we can do that."

The swordswoman kept her eyes on Bluebird before she let them drift to the man on the floor. "You did that?" she asked.

Bluebird tried to nod, but found the sword digging into her throat, so she stopped that. "Yeah, we did."

Thankfully, the sword was pulled away. In fact, the swordswoman slid the sword back into its sheath, much to both of the girls' relief. She even pulled away from Bluebird, giving her some breathing room.

"Then stay close," she said as she turned away from them. "There are still many more threats."

Immediately, Bluebird followed her, Spoiler soon after. "Umm, what's your name?" she asked.

"Katana."

A giddiness began to well up inside of Bluebird. She was really in the company of one of the vigilantes. If she wasn't mistaken, Katana was with the fabled Birds of Prey, the group of kickass women that put the POW into Girl Power.

This was getting awesome.

* * *

 _7:31 PM_

The first thing Black Canary saw was a man in a skull mask flying through the air, screaming as he pulled by a grapple line. His flight was interrupted as he reached Batman, who grabbed the man by his face and pushed it backwards and down, dropping the man to the floor where the back of his head was bashed against the ground.

 _Ouch._

The blonde vigilante and Green Arrow had been circling around the back of the church to make sure there weren't any other surprises. Having cleared the back halls, they had arrived in the main cathedral to find an all-out brawl going on with Batman and Batgirl in the middle of it. Nightwing was somewhere else in the building allegedly, but she couldn't see him anywhere.

Far be it for her to miss this.

"Ladies first!" Green Arrow called out as he drew out an arrow with a punching glove on it. Black Canary couldn't help the smile even as she leapt forward, slamming a fist into the side of a Skullz member, snapping his head to a side. Leaping off the floor as she spun her body, she rolled across the thug's back with her own, landing on the opposite side. Continuing her spin, she shot an arm out and wrapped it around the punk's side and to his chest, pushing up with as much strength as she could.

Due to her momentum and force, the man was lifted right off the ground. Continuing to spin, the man arc over her before she let him go, the thug landing hard on the floor.

She had barely touched her feet to the ground before she was jumping off of it, leaning backwards as she extended a leg out. Her foot caught a Two Ton gang member right in the stomach, doubling him over.

That was when the boxing glove arrow slammed into his face, sending him backwards and away from the blonde woman. As the arrow went clumsily flipping through the air, she pressed her advantage. Because of his legs being bent as he stumbled backwards, Black Canary used that as leverage as she ran at him, one leg coming down on his thigh as she rose up into the air.

Immediately she shot her legs out, both of them coming to rest on the thug's shoulders. Flinging herself backwards, she used the man's lost balance against him and pulled him forward. Shooting her arms above her head, they pressed onto the floor even as she pulled the man with her legs. She then released them just in time to send the guy flying head first into the air where here ended up crashing against the first man Black Canary had confronted.

Of course, that's when a loud, animalistic roar rang out.

Black Canary only had time to dive to a side, going into a flip as a clawed hand swiped at her. Killer Croc had joined the fray it seemed.

However, he didn't seem to be focused on her as he continued to charge forward, running through Two Ton and Skullz members alike. That made her scowl.

Unfortunately, she didn't have time to worry about that as a thug was running towards her, holding up an assault rifle above his head, ready to bash her head in with the butt of it.

* * *

 _7:40 PM_

Batman's distraction could only last so long, Nightwing mused as his feet reached the floor of the church. The bad guys wouldn't be cowed by his presence forever. The hesitation of which he had spoken of was on full display for the vigilante.

That hesitation was truly the difference between life and death. The bad guys were ducking for cover, shooting at Batman, at each other, and the whole thing was pandemonium. The bullets were flying, people were falling from being shot, and it was difficult to know where to start first.

"Okay, should have expected this," Green Arrow commented loudly from beside him, the archer knocking one of his arrows. "Let's see if I can't cool some heads first."

With a _twang!_ , the arrow was shot out in the middle of the gunfight. Whatever the visiting Robin Hood intended to accomplish with that arrow, neither of them knew as it was snatched out of the air by a very large, gray-skin man. The arrow snapped in half within his grip and then dropped to the floor carelessly.

"Aw crap, that guy's here too," Green Arrow muttered as he was reaching back for another arrow.

"I was hoping you'd show up," the large, oddly-colored man cheered as he started approaching his target. "I got a bone to pick with you."

"Funny, I was hoping you got washed out of town, Croc," Green Arrow quipped as he fired another arrow. The projectile detonated in midair, a net blasting out and wrapping around the scaly man. Yeah, there were actual scales on the guy's skin.

This "Croc" struggled with the bindings for a moment, stopping for a second to grin maliciously at the archer and chopping down on the netting with his—holy crap, those were some sharp teeth! Not only did they look sharp, they were as they tore through the net, allowing Croc to rip through the rest of it.

"Got anymore tricks?" Croc growled. With a roar, he leapt at Arrow, arms extended in front of him, barely claw-like fingernails.

Arrow was ready for him, but Nightwing decided to stop this tango from getting started. Running, he tackled Croc, throwing the both of them to a side and smashing through a few pews, wood snapping and splintering beneath them. Rolling off the scaly man and mindful of the bullets zipping overhead, the young vigilante moved towards a small alcove, a doorway fixed right behind him. Pulling out his escrima sticks, he waited as Croc pushed himself up, eyes focused solely on him.

"Well, well, a pretty boy. My favorite type." Seemingly forgetting about Green Arrow, Croc seemed to think that he was a better target. "I especially like pounding pretty faces to pulps. Could call it my specialty."

"A shame you're already ugly. No one will be able to tell if you were like that before I beat you within an inch of your life," was his answer.

With a snarl, Croc charged at him, his body hunched over and giving Nightwing the impression of an incoming tank. Like a matador, he spun around his almost reptilian bull, bringing the end of one of his escrima into a muscular back. The sharp electric zap from the baton gave an extra kick to blow, Croc crying out in pain.

Losing control of his charge, the larger man ran into the alcove's closed door. It was a sturdy barrier, and thus held even against Croc's weight and force. Nightwing took it on himself to fix that, running and jumping to kick both of his feet into Croc's back. That was enough to end the door's struggles as it fell into a small stairwell, Croc landing on top of it.

For a second, Nighting stood on his opponent's broad back, but didn't take the invitation to stay on. He jumped up and landed on the stairs directly ahead of him, spinning around to face the fallen man he was fighting. Said man was picking himself up once more, anger and fury written all over his face.

"That all you got?" the vigilante taunted, using one of his escrima to make a "come hither" gesture.

An angry roar was his answer, and Nightwing scrambled up the steps, doing his best to avoid every swipe and punch Croc threw at him.

* * *

 _7:48 PM_

Somehow, Batman had ended up back-to-back with Black Canary as the fighting waged around them.

"Are you having a good time?" the blonde vigilante called out to him before she blocked a punch and immediately countered, landing a job to a man's face.

Batman in turn caught a fist aimed for his face. Immediately he twisted it to a side, hyperextending the wrist and causing the man to scream in pain. "Duck," was all he said as he reached out and grabbed the thug by his upper arm, closed to his armpit. Leaning to a side and back, he leveraged the arm and lifted the Two Toner up off the floor. As he turned, he saw Black Canary had dropped to a knee, allowing Batman to throw his foe right into hers, their heads cracking against each other before they dropped to the floor.

"Nice," was all she said as she shot back up to her feet.

The Dark Knight ignored the comment. Even though they were fighting for their lives—and everyone else's—there was one person that had slipped just about everyone's mind: Harvey's fiancée, Gilda. He had lost sight of her once the brawl had started.

"There's a hostage in here," he told Black Canary. "We need to find her and get her out of here."

"On it," Canary responded before she pulled away, grabbing onto a charging man's outstretched arm and holding it away. She pressed the forearm of her other hand into the man's chest and pushed hard against him, backing him away.

In the meantime, Batman went in a different direction, catching a Two Ton gang member in a headlock from behind. Forcing the man to bend over, Batman drew a fist back as far as he could before he swung it as hard as he can, arcing it low before it came up and slammed into the man's face. Leaning back then, he released his hold as his foe went tumbling backwards.

* * *

 _8:02 PM_

So apparently there was a hostage somewhere in here. What a way to put a damper on a good fight. Still, Black Canary knew they needed to make sure the only people that were hurt were the bad guys.

As it turned out, that's where she found the hostage.

One of the Skullz had backed into one of the walls, holding tightly to Two-Face's former girlfriend/finance. The woman was terrified at the sight in front of her, arms gripping onto her captors forearm as it wrapped around her shoulders.

In was fortunate that the thug has his gun at his side rather than at Gilda's head. It made this somewhat easier.

And by easier, she meant Green Arrow.

"I bet it's the bow. No one takes the bow seriously," he was grumbling, even as he used it to knock a goon's feet out from under him. "One of these days—"

"Hey," Canary interrupted. Apparently he was still miffed that Killer Croc guy had ignored him. "See that guy with the girl over there?"

"Yeah, what about 'em?"

"Take care of him, will ya? We gotta get that girl to safety."

Green Arrow stared at her for a moment before, "You just like me for my bow, don't you?"

"If it means saving that poor girl, sure, why not?"

In a flash, Arrow had an arrow notched to his bow. There was no hesitation as he released it, Black Canary's mind catching up a second too late as she realized just what arrow he had fired.

Or so she had thought. When one didn't spend enough time with arrows, one sort of assumed that had sharp, pointy arrowheads on their ends. This one didn't as it turned out. It was a blunted arrow, flat and round at its end. It was this that collided with the thug's forehead and caused the back of his head to collide with the back wall.

And just like that Gilda was free, slowly dropping to her knees, but free nonetheless.

Immediately, Black Canary was at her side. "You okay?" she asked as gently as she could.

All she got in response was a petrified whimper. Now this just wouldn't do. "Hey," she said with more steel in her voice, "this isn't the place to get weak-kneed. I'm going to get you out of here and in one piece. In order to do that, I need you on your feet, okay?"

Gilda slowly nodded.

Black Canary then reached out for the woman's hand and began helping her to her feet. "Good, now follow me. Keep low and do as I say and you'll get out of here in one piece."

* * *

 _8:19 PM_

Up the staircase the two combatants went, the wooden steps groaning under the weight pressed onto them. Only a thin wooden railing made of rotting two-by-fours served as protection against someone falling off the stairs.

Croc's great strength tore through them easily as he missed yet another swipe at the dodging Nightwing.

"Stay still you pussy!" the large, scaly man snarled.

"No thanks, I like myself in one piece," the vigilante quipped as he took two steps back, reaching higher and higher heights. He held both of his escrima sticks in front of him, tiny bolts of electricity dancing on the ends of each.

With a growl, Croc tore off a fragment of the wooden railing and threw it like a spear at the lithe young man. Eyes widening, Nightwing turned to his left, placing a foot on top of the remaining railing and launching himself up to a higher portion of the stairs. Croc's makeshift projectile missed him by inches and impaled the brick wall ahead of it.

Snarling, Croc stomped up the stairs, dust billowing under his bare feet and trickling down between the wooden slats. The monster man caught up with his vigilante prey as Nightwing finished pulling himself onto a landing, settling his feet onto the wooden surface. Instead of retreating this time, the vigilante swung one of his escrima, striking Croc in the side of the head.

Croc let out a bellow of pain, and not willing to stop just yet, Nightwing landed another strike with his other electrified baton. Croc moved with the blows, though, not backing up. In defiance, he took another step closer.

The vigilante swung at his larger opponent again, however, Croc turned and moved his head at the last second. Then, he lunged forward and clamped his mouth down on the escrima and tore it out of the smaller man's grasp. Nightwing backed away quickly, surprised at the move and watching the monstrous man warily.

Pulling the blunt weapon out of his mouth, Croc casually tossed it to a side, the escrima plummeting down the staircase's well. Okay, now would be a really good time to have something he could throw at this beast, but usually that had been left up to Robin. Shit. Note to self, start bringing some throwing things, whatever they were called, with you. You never knew if you would need them.

Nightwing snapped out of his thoughts, dodging Croc's fist and throwing himself up to the next flight of stairs. Behind him, Croc tore his arm out of the stairs, wood flying everywhere. The vigilante allowed himself to dangle where he was, watching the other's man's actions and deciding that he needed to try something different.

Stashing away his other escrima, he pulled out his grapple and fired it upwards. The cable grew taut as he pressed the retract button, taking him up to where these stairs led. A roar bellowed below him, the crocodile man not willing to let him escape as he thundered up the steps after him.

In almost no time, Nightwing reached the top, the grappling claw gripping onto the edge of a square shaped hole. As he gripped the edge to pull himself up, he almost hit his head against a large bell. Lowering himself slightly, he slipped underneath it and onto the wooden platform around it.

Looking around, he swore when he realized he had reached the top of a belltower.

You have got to be kidding. Of all the staircases he had chosen to climb, he had to pick the one with the dead end. Real smart there.

The small area was cornered off with brick, gaps placed at the cardinal directions to show the city that lay beyond the tower. As big a fuck you to the masked young man that he could see. A means of escape, but damn was he high up. His only company was a large, cast-iron bell that looked like it had weathered some tough times, hung up above the square-shaped hole he had pulled himself through. Other than that, nothing but a wooden floor under his feet—

Wood exploded nearby as Croc broke through the floor. Nightwing had to shield himself from the splinters coming his way, but he was no worse for wear for it. Looking around, the reptile man's eyes brightened as they located him. "Nowhere to run now, pretty boy."

Nightwing found he couldn't disagree with that.

Yanking the rest of himself through his self-made hole, Croc moved around the bell and swung at the vigilante when he got close. Nightwing ducked as the clawed hand went over his head, hitting one of the brick corners and sending a cloud of brick and dust particles everywhere. The vigilante dodge again from the second attempt at his head, the claw-like nails of the crocodile's hand scraping against the bell with an awful screech.

With the limited space he had, Nightwing attempted to fight back, snaking out a kick into Croc's torso, which the larger, uglier man pretty much ignored. Figuring he needed a stronger weapon, Nightwing pulled out his remaining escrima and attempted another electrified blow.

One thing you couldn't say about Croc, the guy could learn despite his ugly looks. He caught the escrima by its shaft, safely just out of the electricity's range. With his other arm, he decked Nightwing, the force of the blow causing him to thrown back into a supporting brick wall, his weapon slipping out of his grip.

Sneering through a toothful smirk, Croc tossed the escrima out of the bell tower, taunting, "Any more tricks up your sleeve?"

While he wouldn't admit it, the vigilante didn't have anything else, something he would have to fix later if he got out of this alive. All he could do is raise his fists, and ready himself for a fight.

Recognizing this, Croc's smirk spread into a grin. The larger man lunged at him, throwing a fist. Slipping part it, Nightwing threw punch after punch into scaly chest and stomach. His vision became dotted with stars as a large fist struck him, his body tossed away by another hit from the side.

Rolling against the wooden floor, the vigilante looked up blearily as his opponent stalked his way over to him. Unwilling to give up, he struggled onto his feet. Croc merely raised a leg up and drove his bare, scaly foot into the costumed young man's chest, knocking him backwards into another brick corner.

Falling forward, Nightwing rolled into his sprawl, a portion of his body coming to rest and dangly under the hole located under the church bell. Gravity seemed to like him very much as the rest of him slipped into the hole, vanishing from sight.

Crouching down, Croc, grabbed the rim of the bell and pushed it forward, allowing him a better view of the square-shaped hole. Confusion painted his face as he found no sign of the vigilante, no matter how hard he looked.

Then a pair of legs snaked out from the hole and wrapped around the crocodile man's thick neck. Grabbling at one of the limbs with his free hand, Croc was not able to stop the legs from pulling him forward and ramming his head against the unyielding metal of the bell. As the legs released him, Croc stumbled back and clutched at his noggin, snarling in pain.

Swinging himself back onto the wooden platform, Nightwing panted from his exertion. However, he had a better plan now. Thanks to his aborted fall, he had noticed that he hadn't collected his grapple from earlier, the device dangling in the air where its claw still gripped into the side of the square-shaped hole.

Having retrieved it, he held it up at the recovering reptile man and pulled the trigger. The grappling craw shot out and struck Croc in the face, just as he was lowering his large hands. The blow caused him to stumble back. Unfortunately for the scaly man, he didn't have the welcoming feel of brick to meet his back but the open air that flowed through one of the bell tower's openings.

With a surprised cry, Croc fell out of sight, and Nightwing ran over to where he had last seen the man, jumping over the Croc-made hole to do so. Peering through the opening, he found that Croc hadn't fallen far, he fingers gripping into the spaces between brick and mortar. It was a long far below him, and would hurt pretty badly if it didn't kill him.

This wasn't his day, was it?

"Take my hand!" Nightwing called out to the reptile man.

Glaring up at him, Croc growled as he reached a sharp-nailed hand. However, it wasn't to accept the vigilante help, but to try and hit him, the dangling man determined to take his younger, handsomer enemy down with him. Nightwing yelped as he pulled back.

Unable to hold his heavy weight, Croc's other hand lost its purchase against the bell tower, and he gave a scream as he plummeted through the air. His body bounced against the tower several times before he landed on the shingled roof of the cathedral. That wasn't it, though, as the crocodile man rolled against the steep incline, dislodging shingles in his wake until he fell off the roof itself.

Tumbling and twisting in the air, Croc's mighty fall came to an end as he landed in an open top eighteen wheeler, his body smashing into the piled up collection of rock and church debris held in the trailer.

Groaning, Croc had only a little bit of energy left to barely lift his head up, eyes trained onto the top of the bell tower before pain forced him to succumb into unconsciousness.

Looking down where he had last seen his opponent, Nightwing gave out a large sigh and slumped down onto his knees. He was so going to go on vacation after this.

* * *

 _8:38 PM_

Thanks to all the fighting back there, Dent had managed to slip away from the eyes of Batman. Luck seemed to be in his favor still.

Min and Max had followed him out as they abandoned his men who were trying their damndest to kill everybody back there. It was a foregone conclusion that they were not going to come out on top. Black Mask's goons, both suited and masked, and those vigilantes were making quick work of each other.

It would be asking too much for all three sides to take one another out.

However, Dent had a reason for sneaking out, and it was a big one. He hadn't been the only one trying to save his own skin. Black Mask himself had snuck out and was making his way deeper into the cathedral. Like hell he was going to let the bastard get away.

Not after what he did with Gilda.

Black Mask had reached a room, one at the end of a long hallway, and was fiddling with the doorknob when Dent struck. With a shoulder tackle, he hit the masked man in the back with enough force to crash the both of them through the door and into the room on the other side.

Managing to stay on his feet, the crime lord glared down at the groaning man. Pulling a leg back, he kicked Black Mask in his side, forcing his rival to roll onto his side. Reaching down, he grabbed the man's necktie and pulled him up, ignoring the choking sounds coming from behind the mask. Drawing a fist back, he landed the blow into the side of the masked man's head, wincing when it felt like he almost broke something in his hand.

That stupid thing Sionis was wearing on his head must be made of something thick. A shame it only covered his head and not the rest of his body.

Jerking Black Mask by his tie, he continued to ignore the man's struggles as he continued to assault him, letting his hand rest a moment by kneeing him in the torso and throwing him about the room. Then he returned to the punching.

By the time he was done, his so-called competition was a moaning mess on the floor, hardly worth anybody's time. But Dent was not done with him, not yet. Now was the time to end this, permanently.

"Hold him up," he ordered Min and Max, the twins jumping to obey him. With his legs folded underneath him, Black Mask was held up only by his henchmen, his head bowed low. Pathetic.

Normally, this would be the moment that Two-face would flip for the man's life, but after the stunt with kidnapping his wife, no. Not this time. He was going to kill this bastard. Plain and simple. That would show Thompkins he was not dependent on his coin. He could make his own choices.

First though…

"How'd you take this thing off," he murmured as he tapped the barrel of his gun against the skull-designed mask. He wanted to see Sionis' eyes before he put two in his head. He had figured out how to take off the Drake kid's mask, this one shouldn't pose too much a problem.

With his other hand, he felt around, searching, searching...well, what do we have here? Where the underbelly of the mask met with a fleshy neck, the black material clicked open. Digging his fingers into the space, he opened up the mask, fully expecting to see the fear that was in Sionis'—

This wasn't Roman Sionis.

He had seen pictures of the man before, had known that particular man was behind the mask, courtesy of Batman. Two-face knew what that bastard looked like, and the face that met him was not Sionis'.

But he did recognize this man. It took a few seconds, but he did.

"You gonna waste him, boss?" Max asked, eager to get this over with.

Two-face didn't answer, struggling to wrap his mind around with what he was seeing. Because this made absolutely no sense. None whatsoever. It made his head hurt, and his desire to pull out his coin to simplify this whole thing was growing more and more intense by the second.

And then a moment of clarity struck him.

It was so obvious. Why hadn't he seen this before? Ten _months_ before even.

The man behind Black Mask's mask, the man whose face he had a good look at, this was _not_ a part of the world that he was involved with. There was no Goddamn reason for it. Why would he decide to try and pretend…

But he wasn't pretending. No he wasn't. He was a tool. Someone else's tool. And Dent had a feeling he knew who was using him.

"Tie him up," he ordered. "Leave him for the Bat. We're getting out of here."

"But...aren't you...aren't you gonna shoot him?" Min asked, confused by his admittedly abrupt change of heart.

"He isn't worth it," Two-face growled. "I have a bigger fish to fry."

"Huh? Who?"

By now, he was ignoring which twin was speaking. It didn't matter since he had already turned his back on the two of them. Rage was boiling within him, and it had its target. It was a good thing he knew where the asshole was.

"I need to have a talk with my shrink."


	28. The Puppet Snaps His Strings

The Puppet Snaps His Strings

 _8:51 PM_

The sound of skull colliding with sheetrock was a rather disturbing, yet satisfying sound.

Huntress dropped the punk to the floor, kicking him in the stomach for good measure. As relieving as fighting could be, she was too tense and, more importantly, too focused to enjoy it. Any enjoyment had long since ended.

At the very least, there were a hell of a lot less punks with guns around.

Eyeing a nearby door, Huntress moved to it and kicked it in. The door slammed into the wall and bounced back, but not before the purple-clad woman got a good look into the room and dismissed it. Leslie wasn't in it and that's all she needed to know.

Moving to the next one, she also kicked the door in and found it devoid of people. She had to be running out of rooms now; there were only so many. Walking down the hall until she came to another set of doors, she heard Manhunter approaching her from behind.

"Any luck?" Huntress asked her as she stood in front of a door, head turned to the brunette.

"None so far," was her response. "You?"

The sound of breaking wood, followed by a loud _bang_ was the answer. "Not this one either," she grunted before turning to the next door.

This one turned out to be more fruitful. Sitting in a chair was Leslie and two guys with guns surrounded her. As it just so happened, Huntress had her crossbow in hand and she immediately had it up, firing a bolt. The arrow collided with one of the guns, knocking it clear out of the gunman's hand, causing him to yelp in pain.

She darted to one side of the doorway just in time to avoid the gunfire that went off an instant later. Fortunately it was only a handgun and the dark-haired woman counted each and every shot until it stopped. "Found her," was all she said to Manhunter, who had stationed herself on the other side of the door.

Dropping the crossbow to the floor, she pulled out a H-shaped shuriken and moved into the doorway. With practiced ease she sent the projectile flying, nailing the one armed man in the head and knocking him out. Without even breaking her stride, she was on the other man, grabbing a fistful of his shirt before repeatedly bashing her fist against his face. Each punch backed him up, followed by Huntress stepping after him.

Getting tired of that, she then brought her knee up and slammed it into the man's stomach, causing him to double over. A chop to the back of his neck finished him off.

"Was that really necessary?" Leslie asked after a moment.

Huntress looked at the fallen men before turning her sights to the doctor. "After all the time we've spent trying to save you...yes, yes it was."

Despite the disapproving look Leslie sent her, Huntress would not back down from that. Right now she could feel relief filling up in her at the sight of the doc unharmed—relatively, anyways. "It's time we got you home, Leslie."

"I don't have a problem with that."

As Leslie stood up, Huntress turned around in time to see Manhunter checking out the hallway from the doorway. Considering she moved into the corridor a second later, she took that to mean it was currently empty. That was fine considering they needed to find Katana and get the heck out of dodge.

Exiting the room with the doctor behind her, taking a moment to pick up her discarded crossbow and reload it on the move, the three women made their way down the hall, stepping over unconscious bodies left and right. Huntress didn't have to imagine how appalled Leslie was at the sight.

However, as they made a turn, they finally came across Katana—with two stowaways. Both groups stopped as they stared at each other.

It was Huntress who broke the silence. "Who the heck are these two, Katana?" she demanded, gripping the handle of a crossbow tightly. She firmly put herself between Leslie and the two…two…

Oh Lord, who were these two? They didn't look older than adolescence. Was that what they were? And why were they in colorful dress? It was like they were pretending to be vigilantes.

 _Don't tell me these two are vigilantes._

"They claim to help," Katana answered her, confirming her thoughts.. She then pointed to a still-smoking man on the floor. "They took him out together."

Huh, while the smoke was curious, at least they could defend themselves. "Well good for them," she grunted. "We have Dr. Thompkins and we need to get her out of here and regroup with Batman's group."

That got one of the girls' attention as her head perked up. She at least had the good sense to keep quiet though as she didn't say anything. However, the newbies were standing in their way.

"Hey, new girls, get a move on," she ordered, causing both or them to jump. "We're a little busy right now and this isn't the place to be staring like pissants.

"Oh, sorry!" the one in pink— _ugh_ —replied before backing away, stumbling to turn around. The one in blue at least had some confidence as she turned around and followed.

"I see your manners have improved," Leslie commented.

"They're a work in progress," she replied evenly.

"If you don't mind me asking," the girl in blue suddenly said, earning herself the attention of the group, "can you tell us what's going on? Maybe we can help."

"Later, kid," Manhunter replied. "We need to see the good doctor home safely and then get in contact with the Bat. We'll see then."

There was a clear absence of the word no in that answer, but at this point Huntress didn't care. They had half of their objective completed and this was more of a time to get ready for the next part. No doubt whatever was going down at the Gotham Cathedral wasn't going to end there. Call it a gut instinct, but she had been around this city for too long to know months of bedlam would end in one night in one place.

* * *

 _9:01 PM_

The hallway was long. At the end was a door and it was currently closed. It was here Batman was walking to.

The fighting was beginning to die down. Most of the gang members were lying on the floor defeated, leaving only a handful left. Trusting Black Canary, Batgirl, and the others to finish them off, Batman had taken off into the back halls of the Cathedral. Seeing as there was no sign of Dent or Sionis in the main Cathedral, it was possible they had gone further into the building. There was no way they went out the front; if either one of them had, they would've come across one of the vigilantes.

It had been only a few minutes and a couple of other hallways searched, but so far he had come up with nothing. This was his next check.

Reaching the door, he opened it and came to an immediate stop. Leaning up against the far wall was Sionis, his arms tied behind his back and his legs bound together. His masked head was tilted forward and his chest was rising and falling slowly. It was clear he was unconscious.

Batman's face hardened. Glancing about the room he saw no sign of possible booby traps; yet, there was something in his gut that told him something wasn't right. It would be one thing if Sionis was lying face down on the floor, which indicated he was knocked out. If there was a pool of blood, he'd been shot and killed. The positioning, the bindings, they all pointed to some sort of setup.

Because of his searching, it was then the vigilante picked up something else odd. Sionis' mask looked loose. Edging his way to the left, he kept his eyes on the mask and he noticed a crack. It wasn't a jagged crack, but a small gap where two parts of the mask came together when they were closed.

Someone had taken off Sionis' mask. Then they put it back on and tied him up. It was a veritable gift to whomever found him. In fact, it was a gift to the dark-clad man.

Batman had a good idea of who had done this. The oddness of the entire situation was right out of Dent's playbook. He must have attacked Sionis, dragged him in here, and removed his mask, most likely so that he saw the man's face as he shot him. Except he didn't shoot. Possibly, Dent had flipped his coin and it came up on its good side. So instead of leaving Sionis lying around only to get up and leave when he woke up, he had his rival tied up so that he would be captured.

Confidently, Batman strode to Sionis and kneeled down next to him. Hands reaching up, he opened the mask and pulled it off his head.

This wasn't Sionis.

The Dark Knight stared at the unconscious face of an entirely different person. In fact, he knew this man. They hadn't met in person as either Batman or Bruce Wayne. Yet, as part of his job, he made sure to know anyone and everyone involved with the police, Wayne Enterprises, the various criminals, and as of late, Arkham Asylum.

With his head hanging, Batman stared as the slacken face of Jeremiah Arkham. His face was bruised, indicating he had been beaten, most likely into unconsciousness.

Why? Why was Arkham here? Where was Sionis? It didn't make sense. When he had stormed the Cathedral, there was no mistaking Sionis' presence. With everything that had gone on, there was no way a double had been substituted, not in the time that was needed. It was highly unlikely both men were dressed as Black Mask and one waited out of sight just to take the other's place.

Arkham had been there the whole time, there was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Yet, there had been nothing in Arkham's background that showed a connection between the two men. Both traveled in very different social and professional circles. They never crossed each other's paths. Hell, the people they associated never crossed paths.

No...no wait, that wasn't right. Staring down at Arkham, Batman could practically see the strings coming off of him. Whatever role the man was playing, it wasn't all him.

There was one man that had connections to Sionis and Arkham. One man that interacted with both, separately at all times.

His hand clenched tightly. All of this, from Black Mask's return to Harvey Dent's descent into crime was all connected.

Strange.

Suddenly, his comm link came on. _"Batman? Batman, come in,"_ Oracle's voice spoke.

" _This is Batman,"_ he answered.

" _I've been keeping tabs on everyone through the CCTV cameras. Huntress and the others have retrieved Dr. Thompkins."_

Relief welled up within the dark-clad man. That was some welcomed news for the first time in months.

" _I also have been keeping an eye on the cathedral. Because of this, I caught sight of Two-Face leaving the cathedral. I was hoping to reroute Huntress' group to apprehend him, but he's not going to his hideout."_

Batman was on his feet, walking out of the room. "Where is he going?"

" _He's heading west on Herring; he's pretty close to the city limits too. I think he's leaving the city."_

No, no he wasn't. Dent wasn't a man to tuck tail and run. Though he may be heading for the city limits, it wasn't to run. If he had gone further into the city, it would've been obvious he was going to a safehouse of his. His leaving meant he was going for a specific reason. In light of the revelation of Arkham as Black Mask and his being restrained, not to mention the direction Dent was going, there was only one place he could be going.

"Oracle, get in touch with Huntress and tell her to head to Arkham. Dent is heading there."

" _Arkham? How do you know?"_

"There isn't any time," he replied. "I want anyone and everyone there. The clock is ticking and this is our last chance at getting ahold of Dent. Send the GCPD to Gotham Cathedral to arrest the Two Ton Gang, the Skullz, and Black Mask."

There was a pause before, _"You've got it."_

* * *

 _9:29 PM_

The gates of Arkham clattered shut behind Two-face's sedan, the brake lights leaving an eerie, red trail of light in its wake. Pavement crunched under the rubber of the tires as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the asylum's main entrance. The gothic facade of the building loomed over the car, unimpressed by its visitors.

As the rumbling engine fell silent, the doors to the sedan opened. From one of them, the gate guard was shoved out onto the driveway, soon followed by the grim-faced Two-face. With a gun in hand, he nonverbally urged the frightened man to get back on his feet and to do so quickly.

Even if the twins were wringing their hands, speaking to themselves that they should be getting out of Gotham and not making a stop here. What they thought meant nothing to their boss, who for once was single-minded about this.

This was needed, and it had to be done.

Though the small group was at the front entrance, Two-face was smarter than to enter that way. There was a reason why the guard was still alive, and that was to lead them to a side entrance. The man's identification was their key to unlock the door and then they were in.

"So where's your security room?" Two-face growled at his captive.

The answer to that question was down the hallway, to the right, and up a flight of stairs. Any time they came across a patrolling security personnel or an orderly, they were dealt with a quick assault and incapacitated. However, it was very surprising to see how few of them were out and about. The lack of human presence in these halls gave this gothic place an even more haunting quality to it.

Eventually, they found the nerve center of the asylum's security force. With his captive using his identification card to access the lock, the twins rushed in first to secure the room and the two men manning the station. A small screen that showed a football game went a long way to explain why neither man had noticed their infiltration.

This was almost pathetic. Some very dangerous people were being kept here, and the people employed to guard them were easily distracted. Yet, this would work to the crime lord's benefit. Using the station they had seized, it was quickly identified where all night shift employees were and then a simple matter of rounding them and locking them in a nurse's station.

In less than half an hour, three men had taken control of this facility.

"You two will stay here," he ordered Min and Max as he did a quick check of the monitors, locating the place he needed to go. "Make sure no one catches us off guard."

"Yes, sir," was the agreement from the twins.

"If anyone wearing a mask shows up, I want you to release all the prisoners and let them play with them. Let all of them out except for the ones on the second floor in the northwest hall. That's where I'm going to be and I don't want any of the animals in there to get out."

"Are you sure about this, Two-face? I got a bad feeling about this," Min piped up.

A look caused the freckled man to shrink in on himself. "This is something that needs to be done. We'll leave when I'm through, and no earlier. Do you understand me?"

Two nervous nods, but they understood all right.

"Lock the door behind me and sit tight," he instructed as he headed out, closing said door behind him.

His footsteps were unbearably loud as he strolled through the hallways, the tiled floor squeaky from a recent cleaning. The lighting was dimmed, especially in the area where the asylum's patients were kept. He passed by sections of glass panels, behind which various prisoners and patients peered through and at him. Some made sounds, most in gibberish, while others stared with the emptiest eyes ever seen.

Nothing but the reckoning Two-face had planned was on his mind. This was _his_ choice, he told himself. Nothing and no one was dictating his actions now. Because Thompkins was wrong about him. This would prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He had full control over his life.

* * *

 _9:54 PM_

Two cars came to a stop, one known to the world as the Batmobile.

The other was called the Arrowmobile.

Green Arrow had been proud as a peacock as he showed it off. Batman had merely raised an eyebrow at the name while Batgirl simply stared at it blankly. Nightwing had whistled his appreciation, which only served to make the archer puff out his chest.

Black Canary, on the other hand, pressed a hand to her face in embarrassment. Out of all of their reactions, the dark-clad vigilante found that one was the most appropriate.

As the canopy of his car slid open, Batman leapt out, Batgirl doing the same on the other side. The...Arrowmobile...also opened up, Green Arrow and Nightwing doing the same. Black Canary had refused to be in the car and opted for her motorcycle, which she was in the process of parking. Nightwing had jumped at the opportunity to ride in the car, mostly because he lacked such a ride. Getting a good look at him, Batman could see the telltale signs that the young man felt he had made a mistake.

Fortunately, they were the last to arrive. Huntress' group was waiting for them by the entrance. The ladies didn't look any worse for wear, so their raid on Dent's hideout was an overwhelming success.

However, they weren't alone. There were two more bodies with them, young ones if his first glance was correct. One of them, dressed in a pink bodysuit and cape, seemed to be hiding behind Manhunter, peeking her head out to get a look at him. The other was dressed in blue and she stood out in the open.

Who the hell were they?

"What's the scoop, Batman?" Huntress asked then, pulling his attention away from the newcomers. "Oracle said Harvey Two-Face was coming this way."

"He has," the Dark Knight answered her as he strode towards the front doors. "He's heading for Hugo Strange with some of his men no doubt. We only have a couple more hours before midnight, so this makes our last chance to get him into custody."

"Which requires all of this firepower?" Manhunter questioned dubiously.

"I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being a step behind. This ends tonight and if I have to call in every resource at my disposal, then so be it."

There was a silent moment before the brunette nodded her acceptance. "Gotcha."

Without further delay, Batman reached the doors and grabbed the door handles. He then shoved the doors opened, revealing the main lobby to the asylum. He didn't even break stride as he entered the building, the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout the room. They were soon joined by the rest of the vigilantes, their footsteps making a cacophony of sound.

Reaching another set of doors, they too were shoved aside, revealing a long hallway. However, there was a faint sound echoing throughout the corridor, something that made the vigilante narrow his eyes. If he wasn't mistaken, it was the sound of metal doors sliding open.

He kept up his pace as he continued walking the hallway. The further he went down though, his ears caught a new sound. This one sounded more like screams...multiple ones too...and they were getting louder.

"Stay sharp," he ordered as he pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken from his belt.

The hallway made a sharp turn at its end, forcing the group to make the turn. The new hall was shorter than the previous one, what with a large set of mechanized doors at its end. As he approached it, large locks began to slide from one side to the other. Apparently he had triggered a sensor that activated the unlocking mechanism. Either that or someone on the other side had activated it.

However, when the doors slid open, the screams he had heard became deafening. Crazed men and women were roaming a room full of cells, ones that looked like they belonged in a prison rather than a mental health institution. Many of them simply wore rags to cover their nudity while others had their arms restrained in straitjackets.

Why they were out of their cells was a mystery. However, once they noticed the newly opened door, they didn't hesitate as the mob of crazed patients made a mad dash for it.

A mad dash right at the vigilantes.

* * *

 _10:03 PM_

Strange found he couldn't sleep tonight. That didn't stop him from lounging on his bedding, legs crossed at the ankles and a foot tapping the air to a tune only the former shrink heard in his mind.

He had plenty of reason to be relaxed. After all, today had only given him reminders that he was not out of the game yet. If anybody thought that what he represented was neutralized just because he was incarcerated, they were sorely mistaken. Even the mighty Batman had no idea of how far his reach truly was.

And poor Jeremiah, a tool to the last.

Now that had been a plan long in the making. Years ago, when the False Face Society had been founded under the iron fist of Roman Sionis, Strange had inserted himself into the organization on whim, using it as a means to liven up his mundane existence. In the beginning, he had made himself Sionis' confidant, and through his subtle words he changed the Society into something worthy of himself.

Sionis had eaten it all up, the prospects of power and control being very convincing motivators for him. That, and Strange's desirable access to a certain individual with whom the scarred man harbored quite a grudge against. They were the mobster's weaknesses, and they exposed him to the shrink's machinations.

But like all good things, it had to come to an end at some point. Sionis began tugging on his leash, his ego making him more and more immune to Strange's words. A puppet that was trying to cut its own strings was a worthless puppet. The psychiatrist had been unwilling to give up his influence on the Society, but with Sionis becoming less and less cooperative, a replacement had been needed.

That was where Jeremiah came in. A local resource for him, and one that had been firmly bent to his will. No one would even suspect the asylum head to be involved in organized crime. And so, Strange began his work on Jeremiah, changing him into the perfect puppet. Jeremiah's natural tendencies to be weak were exacerbated until it was a full-blown mask for him, while his frustrations and powerlessness was channeled deep within his psyche to create his perfect puppet.

Then the Batman returned, and it was all scrapped.

Fortunately after his capture, he was able to pick right back up with his molding of Jeremiah. Sure, the pawn was uncooperative, but he didn't need the cooperation. Not when he still had his verbal keys to unlock the puppet he had created and buried deep within the spineless man. It took a couple months before his puppet was ready, and then in the interest of making things interesting, he set his brand new Black Mask on the city.

From what he had heard, it had been a resounding success. The Batman was losing, and it was all because of him, Professor Hugo Strange. The superior mind. Once Gotham collapsed in its entirety, the Dark Knight's defeat would be realized. Only too late would that man recognize his involvement, but by then there would be nothing that vigilante could do about it. They both would know who won this game.

While the vigilante was more than capable of handling a crisis, like all the ones that made the news without any problems, he had not been around when the mob families had fought over the limited space and resources of the city. He had. He had observed the level of violence, commented on it clinically, then ignored it as it was beneath him. But now he had a use for it, and when Harvey went on his rampage, he was inspired to unleash his other puppet, setting in motion the war for Gotham's soul.

Oh yes. Oh _yes_. His triumph was at hand, and the best part was he need not lift another finger.

Strange squinted his eyes shut as the lights in the hallway and his cell turned on. He could see red behind his eyelids and he had to turn his head momentarily to relieve his optic organs of the stress.

Hmm, now what was this about? Lights out had passed long ago. Was there some sort of emergency? Curious. There was no sound coming from the other patients in here.

Minutes later, the door to his room opened with a hiss. Lifting his head up slightly from his pillow, Strange peered through his glasses at the suited man that stood before him. The dichotomous coloring of said suit was slightly bizarre, but once one sighted the man's disfigured face, it made a lot more sense suddenly.

"Dr. Erie," spoke the growling voice of the man, and it took Strange a moment to recognize the voice. "Or should I say Professor Strange?"

"Harvey?" Strange asked as the other man drew closer. The right side of Harvey's face was immediately recognizable for the shrink, but the scarred left side was something new. He had heard that Harvey now called himself "Two-face" and apparently it was very appropriate. Having not expected a visit from this...other pawn of his, he chose his next words carefully. "How have you been doing?"

"How do you think?" Harvey retorted as he stood by the psychiatrist's bed.

"I'm getting the sense that you are irritable right now," Strange almost chuckled as he replied good naturedly. "I would offer my services to you again, of course, but current circumstances have limited me in the capacity."

"That right." That was said as a statement, not a question. You could tell from Harvey's tone of voice.

"Is something wrong?" the shrink asked curiously. Perhaps it had to do with this unexpected visit.

"Is something wrong?" Harvey parroted before his voice raised in volume. "Look at me! What do you Goddamn think?"

Strange said nothing as he traded Harvey look for look. He maintained a neutral facial expression, waiting for the disfigured man to continue.

"I found out about Arkham," Harvey stated after a moment of glaring down at him. "It made some things click together. You and I have some unfinished business, Strange."

Found out about Arkham? Did he mean Jeremiah? Something wasn't right here. His gut was beginning to warn him that this visit was no mere social call, not that he had considered such a possibility from the beginning.

"Whatever business would this be?" he asked, continuing to remain neutral.

"You used me, didn't you?" Harvey seethed. "Don't bother denying it. I heard about the things you did, after you let loose those Man-bats. I didn't put the pieces together, at least not in the way they were meant to be. You made me into this. This is what you intended from the start, wasn't it?" As he spoke, one of his hands constantly gestured to the left side of his face, the hideously scarred side.

Strange raised an eyebrow, disinterested. Was this what this was all about? Was poor Harvey coming here to lay blame on him for his recent actions?

"I did nothing of the sort, Harvey. I gave you what you wanted, help. And help you I did," he told his former patient. Because that's what he was, a patient. Let other so called mental health professional call them clients, as if that really did anything. "If you were not satisfied with the results, I'm afraid there is very little I can do about that."

"Look at what you've done to me!" Harvey roared. "You've destroyed everything! My life, my mind, everything that ever meant anything to me. I'm a freak thanks to you!"

"I did not make you turn to a life of crime, Harvey. You made that decision all on your own." He was growing bored with this conversation. So the pawn had caught on to his purpose. So what? Whether he was Harvey Dent or the aptly named Two-face, what did it matter? "Everything that you've ever done these last few months have been because of you, Harvey. You could have chosen not to do any of it. Whatever troubles you face now are of your own making."

"Then answer me this. What was this all for, hmm? What are you up to?" Harvey demanded.

Strange smirked back, not bothering to answer him. What reason did he have to convey his grand designs to this tool? Did a dog ask of its master his reasoning for his commands or did it obey like the faithful companion it was?

"So that's how this is going to be, huh?" That came out as a growl. Honestly, it was like this sad, pathetic man was trying to intimidate him. "Since you like playing with people's lives, then I guess your life should be fair game." Harvey drew out a gun and leveled it at him; with his other hand he pulled out a coin.

The former shrink shook his head indulgently. "Honestly, Harvey, that is not going to change a thing." This man was trying to intimidate him with a gun? Right. How primitive and brutish. No imagination whatsoever.

"Here's how this is going to go," Harvey began to explain, speaking as if he was mentioning the weather. "I'm going to pick a body part, let's say your right foot. Then I'm going to flip this coin. If it lands good heads, I leave that part alone. If it lands bad heads, I shoot that part. Simple."

For a Neanderthal. This was becoming very disappointing...yet Strange's experience with reading body language was presenting him something very concerning. While the threat of physical harm earned his derision, that wouldn't stop Harvey from following through on his threat.

"Must we really go down this route, Harvey?" he asked as he uncrossed his legs, moving himself slightly up his bed. "There really is no need for this to go this way. I am sure we can discuss this rationally and come to a solution that we both can agree with."

Harvey ignored him, preferring to flip that coin he was holding up into the air. The disfigured man caught the piece of currency easily, obviously a sign that he had had a lot of practice. Looking at the result, Harvey grunted, "Good heads."

Now Strange rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Harvey, this is becoming ridiculous. Take a seat and let's talk this out."

"Left foot," Harvey said simply, speaking as if the psychiatrist hadn't spoken at all. Again, the coin was flipped, Strange watching it with disdain. Catching it and looking at the result, Harvey gave a smirk as he stated, "Bad heads."

Strange opened his mouth to say...well, he didn't know quite what because pain exploded in his left foot just as his brain registered the sound of a gunshot. Instead of speaking, he released a scream as he tried to reach for his injured limb. Harvey was having none of it as he forced him back and batted his grasping hands away.

"We've past the time for talk, Professor," Harvey said. "I've already decided before I came here that I was going to hurt you. The only question is how much. I think I came to a pretty good compromise."

Struggling to pull his mind out of the haze of pain that had flooded it, Strange pleaded, "Harvey, we don't...we don't need to do this. There's a better way!"

"Right lower leg." Up the coin went again. Again, Harvey caught it. Bad heads.

A gunshot, another cry of pain as a bullet tore into his shin. The pain! The distressed psychiatrist had never in his life experienced such pain! Tears—tears!—were beginning to leak into the corners of his eyes from the agony.

"Harvey…" he tried again. "Harvey...this...this isn't…"

"Left lower leg." Up the coin went again.

"HARVEY!"

* * *

 _10:10 PM_

It was pure instinct that led Batman to catching the first insane man. It was instinct that hauled the man up into the air and then swing him down to the floor. It was instinct that he slammed his fist into the patient's face, knocking him out for good.

It was instinct that Green Arrow fired one of his arrows right above his head, a boxing glove on its end, which plowed right into another insane patient's face right before he jumped on the Dark Knight's back.

And then the wave of mad men and women slammed into them. They screamed, they drooled, they scratched and clawed, and bit. Whatever psychosis afflicted them, it was frightening to see how damaged they had become.

That didn't mean they were going to take their abuse lying down.

Batman surged forward, bulling his way through the crowd until he reached the first set of cells. He had one of the patients, in a straitjacket no less, in his hands and he rammed the patient against the bars. Drawing a hand back, he slammed it into the person's face, the back of their head bashing against the bars and knocking them out.

That was when a woman patient jumped on his back. She shrieked in his ears as her fingers clawed at his chest, neck, and face. Twisting around, Batman shot his arms up until his hands grabbed onto the torn shirt on the woman's back. He dropped to his knees even as he pulled the woman over his head, forcing her to land on the floor hard. She didn't move much after that.

Looking up, the Dark Knight caught sight of the other vigilantes at work. He couldn't see Batgirl or Black Canary in the mob of bodies, but he did catch sight of Nightwing with his escrima sticks. The normal blue glow was missing, meaning he hadn't activated the taser function-good man. He was using the sticks to block the random attacks at his head and face, only striking out when he had a good shot at an insane patient's head.

Out of all of them though, Green Arrow seemed to be having the most success. With his body in hand, he was swinging it left to right and back, causing the patients to back off. Once one got close, the Emerald Archer would dropped to the floor and use his bow to knock their feet out from under them.

Batman then caught sight of the two new vigilantes. The one in pink was on her hands and feet for whatever reason. Next to her was one of the patients, which the girl in blue was hitting in the face with a rather large gun. The patient stumbled backwards, but due to the pink-clad girl, he tripped and fell to the floor. Then for good measure, Huntress came by and delivered a swift kick to the patient's face, rendering him unconscious.

"This is insane!" Huntress shouted to him as she turned to fend off a male patient that was practically foaming at the mouth. "What are they doing loose?"

That had been the first question in Batman's mind. It didn't really take much to know that someone had set them free on purpose. Following that, considering who they were here for, it became obvious Dent had them released to provide a very effective distraction.

Hearing another scream, Batman turned his head to see a patient charging at him. Rising up onto his feet, he threw a fist, perfectly timing it so that it collided with the man's face and sent him flying backwards. He even crashed into a woman patient, causing them both to fall to the floor in a heap.

"Up there!" the pink-dressed girl suddenly cried out, pointing a finger up above somewhere the Dark Knight's head. Looking up, he noticed a railing at the top of the cell block, two men grasping onto the metal rail as they looked over it.

He scowled. Both men looked the same, so they had to be the twins, Min and Max Donovan. That confirmed who had released these inmates.

However, the blue-clad girl raised her weapon at them. An instant later, a blast of energy fired from its barrel, much to the vigilante's surprise. If he wasn't mistaken, it looked a whole like electricity, which crackled through the air until it struck one of the twins.

It seemed he was going to have to find out who these girls were.

That could wait. Pulling out his grapple, he fired it to the roof and rose up into the air. When he reached the railing, he grabbed onto it and let go of the grapple. Using his rising momentum, he swung his body up and over the railing, swinging a leg out to kick the other twin, who was watching his brother get tased before him. The man cried out as he went crashing to the ground.

Batman touched down a moment later and was on the twin before he had a chance to take a breath. "Where's Dent?" he demanded, grabbing the man by his jacket.

The man—Min if he wasn't mistaken—answered immediately. "Block D!" he shouted. "He wanted to deal with that crazy doctor guy by himself!"

That confirmed what Batman had already suspected. There was also no telling how long Dent had been paying Strange a visit either. Strange could be dead, beaten, or in some twisted game Dent had thought up.

It was time to go face the former District Attorney and finish this once and for all.

* * *

 _10:17 PM_

Something was horribly wrong.

When Huntress had accepted the help of two unknown vigilantes, she had thought they had some sort of fighting experience. Within moments of entering this madhouse, that had been proven very, _very_ wrong.

For example, Huntress had her hand wrapped around the wrist of one of the patients. Her other hand was grabbing onto what past for a shirt and she was twisting her body. Using her strength, she lifted the patient right off the floor and sent them flying through the air. The patient's screaming didn't change one iota from their crazed rush to their now wild flight. It did stop when he slammed face-first into a wall.

Turning around, Huntress then saw Spoiler. She was backing away as fast as she could as some woman clawed at the air in front of her. There was no attempt at defending herself other than putting as much distance as she could from her attacker.

Immediately, Huntress charged. Leaping at the last moment, she leaned backwards and swung one of her legs, landing a kick to the back of the mad woman's head, sending her careening forward. Spoiler let out a startled cry as she jumped to a side, the patient landing hard where she had been standing.

"What the heck are you doing?!" the purple-clad woman demanded. "We're in a fight and so far I haven't—"

"Behind you!" Spoiler suddenly screamed.

Huntress immediately whipped around in time to see a patient rushing at her. Eyes wide, she then ducked to a side, allowing the man to fly right by her. As she turned her head to make sure she had an eye on the man, she then saw Spoiler leap into action, and by that she meant literally. Spoiler jumped at the patient, landing on his back as her arms wrapped over his shoulders and around his neck. The man began to thrash as he hollered and screamed, twisting around as Spoiler clung for life.

Storming up to the man, Huntress drew a fist back, then slammed it into his face. A dazed look appeared on the man's face before his legs gave out and he dropped to the floor. Spoiler assisted with the fall part way before she let go and let the guy collapse into an unconscious pile.

Immediately, Huntress grabbed her by her upper arm. "Stay with me," she ordered, her tone brokering no argument. She was going to make sure this girl made it through this thing. She then let go and turned around, walking towards a patient that had taken to clawing at the wall. Grabbing them by the back of their head, she cracked their skull against the wall and let them drop to the floor.

"Park yourself here," she then said, Spoiler doing exactly as she said, though for some reason she stood with her side to the wall. Scowling, Huntress raised a hand and pushed the young girl's shoulder, causing her to stumble and turn, her back bumping against the wall. "Keep an eye out for anyone rushing us," she continued, "or we're gonna have to explain to the Bat why we're in bloody pieces, capisce?"

Spoiler nodded her head. "Y-yeah," she stammered.

With another scream, Huntress twisted around, catching a woman's hands at their wrists. Raising a foot up, she then kicked it out, landing a kick to the woman's midsection and forcing her backwards.

This was gonna be a long fight.

* * *

 _10:22 PM_

Hugo Strange had been reduced to a mess of blood and tears. Gunshot wounds littered his lower body, seemingly at random. His left foot, right lower and upper leg had been wounded, their counterparts left alone.

Above the shrink, his former pawn continued mercilessly as he flipped for each and every body part. When it had come to Strange's groin, he had flipped three times, one for each piece of the royal jewels. Strange had had a lot of luck there, getting three good heads in a row.

But that hadn't saved his right hand from a bad heads. As Two-face recalled, that was his writing hand.

All throughout this torture, Strange had begged for him to stop, trails of tears streaming down the sides of his face. How he had not fallen unconscious or succumbed to shock remained a mystery, but since it kept him conscious, it was more than welcomed. Unfortunately for the incarcerated shrink, his words had no effect over his assailant.

For once, his greatest weapon was failing him.

"I don't know about you, but I'm feeling better and better about this," Two-face commented as he fingered his coin. "You head doctors have a word for this. Let me think. That's right, catharsis. I think you people might be onto something with that."

Strange blubbered some kind of reply, it was hard to tell. Two-face decided to interpret it however he wished.

"Get on with it you say? I can't argue with that," the man who had fallen from grace chuckled. "Should I continue with your arm or move to your other hand? I think I'll go with your other hand. For all I know, you're ambidextrous and I think you could do without both hands for a while. At the least, it'll be a pain not being able to hold anything while you heal. If that's how we're going to do this. I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Har...vey…" slipped from the blubbering shrink. At least, that's what it sounded like.

"No time like the present, Doc." Two-face grinned maliciously as he readied to flip again.

This was the scene that the Dark Knight came across. The remains of Harvey Dent torturing a delusional madman who was anything but composed or in charge. While the costumed vigilante felt little empathy as Strange's own scheme backfired on him, it was to Harvey that he spoke to.

"No more, Harvey."

Pausing, the disfigured face of Harvey Dent turned to and scowled at him. His suited body turned to face him, his gun no longer pointed idly in a random direction and aim directly at his maimed victim. Specifically, at Hugo Strange's head.

"Not another move, or I blow his brains out," Harvey threatened. "Keep your hands out where I can see them."

Batman acquiesced, keeping his hands visible to the deranged man. "What are you trying to prove here, Harvey? What are you trying to accomplish?"

"Don't call me that anymore. I'm not Harvey. Not anymore. Thanks to him," Harvey gestured with his head towards Strange. "This is personal, not business. It's between me and him. And I won't be satisfied until he pays for everything he's done."

Batman could hear the anger in Dent's voice, could hear the frustration. He had heard such a tone of voice from him before, back in a time when he was still the city's district attorney. It was a tone that came out whenever he discussed difficult cases, soon followed by a request for the vigilante's assistance. It was the biggest sign that somewhere in there, Harvey Dent still existed.

For once, he was not going to throw a punch, or beat into submission. This time, he was going to use words, to try and appeal to the man he had once known. Because who else but Harvey Dent, and not Two-face, would head straight into an obvious trap set up by Strange's puppet Black Mask and all for a woman he had all but abandoned?

Maybe this time he wouldn't have to end it with violence.

"This isn't you, Harvey. This is what he made you into. You don't have to be pulled by his strings anymore. Look at him." He gestured towards the wounded man whose eyes were darting between the two of them.

"Look at what he's done to me!" Harvey scowled back, pointing to the left side of his face. "He destroyed me, took everything that meant anything to me away. Why shouldn't he pay? We both know he won't. The justice system will let him slip through the cracks and then what? Who else will he twist and turn until there's nothing left?"

"Strike him down, Batman," Strange pleaded. "He's too far—"

"Shut up," both men ordered the bald, bearded man, interrupting him.

"You used to believe in the system, Harvey. You wanted to make it better than it was," Batman continued to press. "You wanted to make Gotham better. There's a part of you that still wants it, despite what you've done. There's nowhere to go and there are people waiting for you, wanting you to come back. Hoping that you'll stop running."

"Running? You think I'm trying to run away, like I'm trying to escape?" Harvey was giving him an incredulous look. Jabbing his finger back towards his face, he snarled, "There is _no_ escape from _this_. I'm trapped, just like all the other rats in this place. I'll never escape, and this bastard's the one who threw away the key."

"It's not too late for you," the vigilante argued back. "You can still get help. Let me help you, help you to return to the man you meant to be. The man who helped deliver this city from organized crime and fought against its corruption. You can still be that man again, Harvey."

"That man is dead, Batman." Harvey's tone of voice had lowered, but it was tinted with regret. "I delivered this city back to Hell in a handbasket. There will be no redemption for me. We both know it."

"It's never too late, even for you," Batman tried again, turning his hands slightly so that the back of his hands were in Harvey's direct view. "You can still free yourself from Strange. Let the law deal with him."

"The law? Oh the law will deal with him alright," Two-face scoffed. "The only law that really matters. The law of averages." He held up his coin to the vigilante, the scarred side facing the costumed man. "The law that no amount of words or cash can change."

The coin was flipped into the air, Harvey's eyes leaving Batman to watch its ascent.

With his thumbs, Batman placed pressure unto the upper part of his palms, and from his gauntlets, a slew of silver dollars slipped out and into his hands. Flicking his wrists, he threw the coins up into air above the crime lord.

As the coins entered into his view, Two-face's eyes widened. "No!" he cried out and tried to reach out for his coin, losing sight of it as the other coins blocked it from view. He had to shield his eyes as the coins fell onto him and scattered onto the floor with a loud din. Some rolled to the edges of the room while others stayed where they had landed, a jumbled mix of defaced currency.

"Alright, Dent. Make your choice," Batman stated as he took a step back. "If you're going to execute this man, then it has to be _your_ choice. No coin, no heads or tails. Just you. So make it."

Strange shot him a disbelieving look, shocked that he was offering the shrink up to his would-be killer without raising a fight.

The look on Two-face's face was almost feral as he looked at the vigilante then to Strange. Immediately, he held the gun up, aimed at the wounded man and held steady. If he had chosen indeed to kill him, he would do it in the next second.

Except...there was no shot. Two-face continued to aim his weapon at his victim but did not shoot. From where he stood, Batman could see sweat beading on his forehead as the seconds ticked by. He adjusted his grip on his gun, even as it began to tremble. Two-face's eyes flickered to the coins at his feet, then back to Strange. Then back to the coins. Back to Strange. The coins. Strange.

"I have to know!" The words tore out of Two-face as he fell to the floor, desperately searching for his missing coin. His gun slipped out of his hands, clattering onto the floor and away from its owner. "Where is it? Where is it!" He picked one up, looking at it hopefully until he turned it around. "This one isn't it!" he roared as he threw it away violently, resuming his search.

Again and again, he would pick up coin after coin, becoming more and more desperate when he just couldn't find the one he was looking for. Cries of rage escaped from him, growing high in pitch until they were nothing more than animalistic shrieks.

It was hard to watch as a man that he had come to know, both from the eyes of Batman and Bruce Wayne fall apart like this. But he stayed there, watching it play out until Two-face curled into a ball, his fingers digging into his scalp as he was paralyzed by indecision.

Harvey Dent...Two-face's threat had come to an end at last.

The squeaking of a bed drew Batman's scowling attention to the man responsible for all this.

"So you defeated him," Strange commented, attempting to show no weakness even though he had to be suffering immensely. "My congratulations."

He could have told the bearded man to shut up, that he wasn't interested in anything he had to say. But no, not after all this. Not after he had destroyed the hope that Gotham could finally be saved. So the words he used would be his attack, and they would strike deep into this bastard.

"How does it feel, Strange, to have your plan backfire on you?" he stated more than asked.

"A setback," Strange retorted. "Though he was a failure, he almost bested you. I can't imagine what will come next."

"I would be more concerned about yourself than me," the vigilante refuted. "Your time bombs may still be out there, but consider this. How many will come to the same conclusion that Dent did and come after you? How many will decide to pay you a visit before detonating as you intended. I know you, Strange, you want to be able to _see_ what your work accomplishes and what would it mean if you weren't alive to see it? It would not prove that you are superior because what fool gets killed by his own bomb?"

Strange seethed in reply, glaring at him.

"I think we've seen who's superior here, Strange, and it's not you," Batman continued mercilessly. "Rest easy tonight that you've been spared. I can't guarantee I'll be there the next time."

"This isn't over," Strange growled. "This is far from over."

"Tonight it is." Tightening his fist, he slammed it into Strange's face, granting the deranged shrink blissful antiseptic from his pain.

* * *

Author's Note: Anybody surprised by the twists this story took? I wonder how many of you expected Jeremiah Arkham to be the one under Black Mask's mask. I definitely know a few were confused since Sionis is dead. In the comics, Arkham did become the second Black Mask, and naturally, Strange had a hand in that two, though he tag-teamed with the Joker to do it. Well, the ride is almost over for _Three Sides of Fate_. Stay tuned for the last chapter and what comes next.


	29. The One You Feed

Author's Note: Here it is, the last chapter of this installment, as well as what I've informally called the Hugo Strange trilogy. Sure, there were three other stories interrupting it, but that's besides the point! But man, what a journey, so much has changed since it started. I hope the twists were good ones, and especially, I hope there's a lot of rereading value with this one. All that said, I'd like to thank Jackalope89 and the anonymous Guest for their reviews. Read the author's note at the bottom for more news on upcoming stories. Enjoy.

The One You Feed

 **I've given more**

 **Than what I've got**

 **I've given all**

 **Of what I'm not**

 **I've watched this war consume all that we could become**

 **Facing my fears in the dark**

 **-The One You Feed by Crown The Empire**

It was finally over.

Ever since Batman had told them all about the impending Justice League arrival, there had been a weight on their shoulders. Well, at least there had been one on Huntress'. Initially she had been of the same mind as Green Arrow, that they needed all the help that they could get. Yet, after Batman's explanation as to why that was a bad idea, she couldn't help but agree. Then with every minute and every hour that passed, the anxiety of that deadline grew greater and greater.

At long last, that feeling was gone.

However, the dark-haired woman had come to realize that while everything had gone as good as they could have, she had made a mistake. That mistake was in the form of Bluebird and Spoiler. They had been so eager to help out and Huntress had been too distracted with what was going on that she had agreed to put them in a horrible situation. It became abundantly clear that neither of the girls were ready for prime time.

While Bluebird had that arm cannon of a taser gun, she was woefully unprepared for a fist fight. She had a couple moves that had helped during the brawl with the insane mental patients, but that wasn't going to get her very far. At the very least she had those, though; in comparison, Spoiler had no training whatsoever.

The entire time, Spoiler had tripped, crawled, stumbled, and tumbled her way through the fight. She helped out occasionally, but the entire time Huntress had found herself watching over the girl the entire time. She hadn't taken a breath until the fighting was clearly over.

That was what upset her. She should have sent the both of them home, or at the very least left them behind. There was no way they could've kept up with motorcycles. Already, she could feel Batman was going to be asking about them and she was going to have to explain why she didn't vet them further, or just flat out said no.

Unlike the Bat, she didn't see any reason to discourage people from wanting to help. The more hands they had, the better. True, they needed to be trained hands and that's what these girls needed if they were to continue this line of work.

Therein lied the rub. Between being a teacher and a vigilante, Huntress didn't have the time to teach them self-defense, much less street brawling and fighting. No way was Batman going to take on noobs either; he had made his feelings quite clear over the years about the presence of other vigilantes. The only one he had gone out of his way to accept was Batgirl and she was a damn prodigy.

Bluebird and Spoiler were clearly not prodigies.

So who did that leave? The Birds? They might do some teaching. Hell, Katana had time to kill, maybe she could teach them. Then again, Katana never seemed to be looking for a student, so maybe that wasn't the way to go. Canary had a day job, so that was doubtful and there was no telling about Manhunter.

The Batclan was also a no-go. Robin was gone. The same with the old Batgirl. That left Nightwing all by his lonesome…

Actually...that wasn't a bad idea.

Nightwing was a decent fighter. He was definitely patient with kids, Robin being the prime example for that observation. He was all alone without his fellow clan members. Maybe this could change that.

Spotting the man in question, Huntress then looked to the two new girls and gave a sharp whistle. The two jumped where they stood, looking to her as she gestured for them to follow her. Walking towards Nightwing, the girls in tow, she came to a stop in front of him. "So, that was fun," she greeted him.

"Yeah, sure was," he replied sarcastically. "Never had someone try to eat my face before, so that was fun. We should all get together some time and do it again."

 _Ass._ "Well, I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be all on your own," Huntress said, causing the young man to raise his eyebrow.

"Where are you going with this?"

"Well, as you know, the vigilantes are grouping together. Your former Batclan, the Birds of Prey, even Batman is getting in on it. Except now you're all by yourself."

"Don't remind me."

"Which is why I have a job for you." At this, Huntress reached back and grabbed Bluebird and Spoiler by their shoulders, pushing them in front of her. "Meet Bluebird and Spoiler. They're new to the scene and they need to get brought up to speed—and by speed I mean they need to be trained. Seeing as you suddenly have no partners, it seems to me you have some time to train new ones."

"Train?!" Nightwing exclaimed.

"Train?" Bluebird questioned as she looked at Huntress in disbelief.

"Train?" Spoiler squeaked out as her shoulders stiffen and she shrunk in on herself.

"After what's happened tonight, we need more capable fighters. These two have volunteered."

"But why me?" Nightwing demanded. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because you look lonely," Huntress replied, a smirk growing on her face. Then she waved before pulling away. "You three have fun."

With that, she turned around and walked away. Perhaps it was shitty to dump the two girls on Nightwing, but this was for the best. Either they would quit, or they would get better, there was no third option.

A part of her wondered which one it would be, especially after she heard Spoiler greet, "Hey, Sexy Batman."

* * *

Gordon stared through the glass and into the small room that was Harvey Dent's new home. The former district attorney sat on his bed, a straitjacket restraining him though for what purpose eluded the commissioner. Dent stared directly ahead of himself, his eyes blank and hollow, noticeable bags under them.

It was as if he was in another world, trapped there and unable to return to the real one.

Despite everything that had happened in the last several months, Gordon couldn't help but feel pity for this man. He still remembered a time when the person in that room had stood by his side, determined to save and improve the city they were both sworn to protect. The life he seemed to have, combined with a natural charisma, could make anyone believe in him, that he could do what he promised to do. It didn't hurt either that he matched action to words.

There was this element of tragedy to all this. He couldn't figure out where it began and where hope ended. This shell of a person was all that was left of Dent, and it angered him. It angered him because this man had had so much promise, so much potential. What demons could have brought him so low?

Several names came to mind immediately.

Gordon glanced at the woman beside him, a person who had requested to visit Dent minutes after his incarceration. For the most part, he had not been aware that Leslie Thompkins had been abducted and held against her will by Dent. There was the missing person's report, and since the scene of her last whereabouts had obvious signs of foul play, she had been treated as a kidnapping. Thanks to Dent, not many resources had been placed to try and find her.

Her story of having to use her medical expertise on Dent's wounded was another side story in this tale of tragedy. Obviously she had no choice but to aid him, coerced by both Dent and her Hippocratic Oath. Thompkins shouldn't be held for any actions she perpetrated, and if she was, he'd be the first to step up for her defense.

As unlikely as that was.

"I can't help but pity him," Thompkins sighed at last, unknowingly voicing his own thoughts.

"Why's that?" the commissioner asked as he glanced at the doctor.

Thompkins turned her head enough to face him. "He's a very troubled man, Commissioner. Help is what he always needed. He didn't deserve what happened to him, what led his inner demons to surface. It's a sad case, no matter how you look at it."

Gordon grunted as he returned his gaze to his former colleague.

"The worst part of this situation," Thompkins continued without any prompting, "was that he did seek out help. Instead of finding someone who could give him the help he needed, he was betrayed by that person and twisted into this. It is a failure of our field, a mark of shame that one of our own could visit such malice on another living being. It brings disgrace onto us all."

That reminded him of that said person. "Will you walk with me, doctor?" he asked. "You've reminded me that there's someone else I need to check up on here."

"Of course, Commissioner," Thompkins agreed.

The pair left what remained of Dent to his isolation, taking as close to a pleasant stroll as anyone could in a place like Arkham.

Speaking of Arkham, they were still dealing with the fallout of the asylum's namesake. The revelations that Jeremiah Arkham was wearing the mask of Roman Sionis had been shocking, to say the least. The man himself couldn't explain how he came to be in that position, or why. Until that mystery could be solved, Arkham was to be held until his culpability was determined.

Gordon, however, had his suspicions about this. When he had the time available, he would share it with a mutual friend, see what he could turn up.

The short walk ended as they arrived at the asylum's infirmary where its latest guest was held. Glass windows allowed pretty much anyone to gaze through them into the large room, and on one of the beds incapacitated by casts was Hugo Strange. His lower body was pretty much wrapped in bandages, casts over the majority of his right leg, left foot, and his right hand. A nasty bruise was visible on his bearded face.

Again, Gordon had his suspicions where that bruise came from, and was only slightly jealous that he couldn't be the one to place it there. That bastard deserved much worse with what he had done to this city.

"I assume this is him, Hugo Strange," Thompkins commented, a brow furrowed.

"He's lucky to be alive," Gordon grunted. "He set this all into motion, then sat back and relaxed here while everything fell apart. Even locked up, I doubt he's been idle."

"Do you know how he received those injuries?" the doctor asked.

"Mostly from Dent. His was the only gun nearby and we're running the ballistics for confirmation. The theory is that Dent broke in to pay him a visit, and it didn't end too well for him."

"And the bruise?"

"Perhaps Dent slugged him first before he became trigger happy." Gordon shrugged his shoulders, expressing that he was not interested in Strange's well-being.

"Do not be so callous, Commissioner. We should be concerned about the welfare of every person, even the ones we don't like," the elderly woman chastised. "Even if I find him despicable, I would wish no harm on him because how would that solve anything? He may represent the evils of the field of medicine, but he still deserves our aid. Our concern for our fellow man is what separates us from beasts and the like."

"Sometimes I wonder, Dr. Thompkins," Gordon sighed as he turned away from the sight of Strange. "People like him make it very difficult. When people like him destroy people like...Harvey, what do we do? How do we move on? How do we hold him to account for the terror he put us through?"

"If I were you, I would turn to the law," Thompkins remarked as she followed him, matching his pace as she came to walk beside him side by side. "It may not be perfect, but it's better than the alternative. Show him that your way works better than his. Show him that his deeds will not bring us down. I have lived a long time, and let me tell you that no matter where I've been, no matter what atrocities I have witnessed, I have also found good people. People who only want to help, who want to improve not only their lives, but others as well."

Since she brought it up, Gordon thought about the extraordinary individuals that called themselves the Justice League. Already they had cleared away and sealed off what was left of City Hall with a very green yet transparent shield. Clean up, mostly, and organizing relief efforts. Now that Dent and Arkham were no longer threats, the reason for bringing them in had almost vanished.

The League had volunteered to help clean up and neutralize whatever poisons and radiation that was left in the rubble. Then the city would begin rebuilding once more.

In the meantime, the GCPD would take advantage of the power gap left in the city's underworld and hopefully take one step closer to a better and brighter Gotham. The task force he had set up would continue to dismantle Dent's syndicate, and bring charges against its mastermind. Maybe. One day. If Dent could ever be found competent to stand trial.

Maybe it would be for the best if he didn't. Even though the Feds were biting at the bit to go after Dent, a full psychiatric evaluation would be needed first. A bit ironic now, since Dent once scorned it when other criminals tried to use the practice as a means to stay out of Blackgate.

For the time being, though, he would have to look ahead for the upcoming dawn. For now, Gotham's long nightmare had come to an end.

* * *

The green construction of Green Lantern's could be seen several blocks away. Standing on the same rooftop as he had following the destruction of City Hall, Batman stared at the scene, faintly aware of the red blur that would dart through his vision every so often.

He felt her presence long before she had set foot on the roof. "You did it," Diana greeted him, her voice coming from behind him.

"You say that like you had any doubt."

The crunching of the gravel told him the Amazonian Princess was walking to him, the sound coming to a stop once she stood next to him. "I'll admit, I did have a doubt or two every so often," she joked. "But I had faith you would pull through."

He grunted in response.

"I suppose you're not too happy to see the League in your city," she ventured.

"It doesn't really matter now that the matter is settled," Batman responded after a few moments. "Two-Face is behind bars, so is Black Mask for the time being. They were still puppets throughout this entire thing though."

"And you know who the mastermind is."

"He's currently receiving medical attention. After what Two-Face did to him, he needs it."

"I understand this man was already in custody for the Man-Bat attacks," Diana said then. "What will happen to him now?"

"Now? Considering they haven't even gone to trial for that, he'll be charged with this latest infraction, assuming Two-Face and Arkham are willing and able to testify against him." He sighed then. "At the very least it'll make his criminal insanity plea much harder for him."

There was a frown on Diana's face. "You sound as if you have doubts."

"It's been a long night, Diana. I'm tired and the night is still young."

"You intend to watch over the city this night?"

"Once I catch my breath." _And a big one at that._

"The League can assist you," Diana offered. "We're in the city already, so it wouldn't be too much trouble." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Go home and get some rest. You deserve that much at least."

Did he? Perhaps. Unfortunately, he got a good look at Harvey Dent tonight, saw the darkness that festered inside of him and he didn't like what he saw. Most of that was because that same darkness was inside of him, waiting to be unleashed. Could he say he would have acted differently than Harvey had after everything he went through?

That caused Batman's face to harden. He had been through bad things in his life and instead of becoming destructive to everyone and everything, he strove to protect those things. Perhaps an argument could be made he was self-destructive, but he was the only one to suffer for his choices, unlike Dent's.

"Brooding?" Diana asked, startling him out of his thoughts. "I had heard you do such things. It's rather fascinating to see it in action."

Batman raised an eyebrow as he looked to the Amazon. "You believe everything you hear?"

Diana smiled at him. "Go home, Batman. You've done enough for Gotham this night. We will make sure it still stands when the sun comes up."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then I suppose we'll owe you a new city."

* * *

Harleen watched pensively as the man who was to be the next administrative head of the asylum stepped over the threshold. He had the look of man in his late fifties, bald on top with thinning gray hair, and a pair of rimmed glasses that belonged to the fifties.

He may not have been the tallest person in the room, just slightly taller than her, she estimated, but the presence he exuded combined with the suit and tie he wore more than made up for it. Based on appearance alone, you could tell he was one of those strict, no nonsense types who probably had a stick so far up his ass that it was coming out of his mouth.

But Harleen digressed.

The sternness of his face carved out the abundance of wrinkles in his forehead and around his mouth, making his appear as if he was highly unimpressed with what he saw. The way he moved exuded authority and a demand for respect. From what members of the staff who had showed up as an impromptu welcoming committee could make out, their days of having leeway to do with their patients was over.

Cold blue eyes settled on them, freezing them in their places. "You're the staff here, correct?" That was a rough voice there; whether it had been weathered by time or barking orders remained to be seen. "By order of the governor of this great state, I will be taking charge of this facility, its employees, and all individuals who reside here."

Harleen was growing to dislike this man by the second. It was easy to tell that he was not going to be like Jeremiah Arkham to be sure. How perfect. This was not going to be good for her internship.

"If you do not know who I am, or have heard of me, I am Quincy Sharp," the man continued, introducing himself. "There are people who are very concerned about certain trends that are being set in Gotham. I am here to rectify this and put this house in order. There are going to be some changes around here and I expect your full cooperation."

Harleen was beginning to dislike this guy. What was he talking about when he meant "changes?" And why did she have a bad feeling about them.

Maybe it had to do with the fact, that she had heard of this man before. Of course, his name happened to be attached to a prison, specifically the New Jersey State Prison. Maximum security only. Rumored to be in contention with Blackgate as one of the toughest prisons in the state. And Sharp was the warden there.

Was he thinking about…?

So long as Sharp didn't interfere with her own agenda, then he could do what he wanted. Once Harleen got what she needed, she'd be leaving this institution anyway. It was a means to an end, she told herself.

As the new bureaucrat in charge walked past her, not even giving the time of day to look at her, Harleen eyed him with disdain. He better not try anything, or else she might have to take drastic actions.

He wouldn't be the first one.

* * *

The bell to the door rang, but Dinah didn't have to think too hard about who was entering her little flower shop.

"You know, I'm gonna miss this place," Oliver Queen remarked as he strolled up to the front desk. "It has a quaint feeling to it."

"Quaint," Dinah repeated, one of her eyebrows raising up.

"I take it I've used a wrong word."

The blonde waved it off. It wasn't that big of a deal really; she just wanted to give the guy a hard time. "I hear that deal with Wayne Enterprises went through."

Ollie's eyes dropped to a nearby newspaper, one of the headlines declaring such. "You know, I would've thought Wayne's people would've kept this secret better. I swear, he spills more secrets than the government."

A smile appeared on her face. "I'm guessing that means it's time for you to go back to Star City. You don't have anymore business here in Gotham."

"Well, that depends really," the blond man replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Do you want to give me a reason to stay?"

"I don't think your Board of Directions would appreciate me appropriating you to Gotham."

"Then why don't you come to Star City with me?"

That gave Dinah pause. The look on Ollie's face told her he was being sincere. If she said yes, he would do everything in his power to get her set up, maybe even offer to have her move in with him. Which was crazy considering they only knew each other for a week or so. Sure they knew each other better than most, what with their night jobs.

Also, she had her business and she doubted it would survive moving to Star City. She had her clientele here that kept her open and that wasn't a guarantee in another city. Perhaps if they knew each other better, spent more time together, then perhaps this would've been harder.

"I'm gonna have to decline," she answered after a moment.

"You sure? I know Star City isn't as exciting as Gotham; we just have the low-level thugs and mob bosses, none of these super-criminals and crocodile men. Pretty tempting, right?"

Dinah tapped one of her fingers against her cheek, a contemplative look on her face. "That is tempting," she admitted. "But I'll have to go with no again. Sorry, this is my home and I'm needed here."

"Duty calls, I get it." Ollie hung his head for a moment before he looked back at her. "I'll miss you, Pretty Bird."

"This is the end?" she questioned. "Just like that?"

"Well, it's not like it's very economical to come here every weekend. Do you realize how much fossil fuel my jet burns every trip? I would personally be responsible for the increase effect of Climate Change. You don't want me to destroy the environment, do you?"

Dinah stared at him. Then after a couple moments, "I have a phone number."

Was it sad that this didn't even occur to the guy? Probably. Ollie's head did perk up though. "You do have a number, don't you? Mind if I get it?"

"I don't know," she responded cheekily. "Considering you didn't even think about that, it makes me wonder just how serious you are. I'm thinking I need to make you work for it?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, you did mention some jet-setting. Maybe you should be visiting every weekend. I could use a nice vacation to the Bahamas."

It was Ollie's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And what about Climate Change?"

"If I were to say I'd introduce Global Warming inside your pants?"

There was a pause. "I suppose the environment is just going to have to take one for the team."

* * *

Closing the flaps to the box, Tim took the tape roller and pulled out a strip. From there, he taped up another box, sealing it shut. It was one of many he had closed up and would have to carry downstairs.

It was a bit of a punishment. Mom and Dad had noticed all the bruising he had taken from Two-face's goons and they had wanted an explanation. Doing his best to not give away, well, you know, he came up with a half-truth of sorts. He was out without permission and he got into trouble. Picked a fight with a few guys he shouldn't have.

The teen did feel a bit bad when they bought it. That sense of guilt disappeared when they decided he would have to pack up and move all his stuff on his own. Without help.

Remember, Tim, you feel guilty. Real guilty. You were heartbroken. Truly you were.

Setting aside the tape roller, he bent down to pick up the box and take it downstairs. Okay, this one was a bit heavier than he intended. Probably put too much crap in it. Yeah, he had a better idea of how to swing his way around town on a grappling line, making all the adjustments he needed to handle his own body weight, but he couldn't judge worth a crap how much to put in a measly box.

And he had already taped it up too…

Oh can it, Drake. You were a man, sort of. You could handle this. Man up and let it do its worst.

With the box held in front of him, almost pressed against his torso, he stepped carefully out of his room, passing the computer system he had set up for both school and, once upon a time, gaming purposes. The sight of it caused him to pause for a moment, momentarily forgetting the strain he was putting into his arms to recall other regrets.

It was almost hard to believe that he was leaving. Like Dick and Barbara, he had wanted to help make Gotham a better place. Even with all the mistakes, the trial and error, and the gradual improvements in their abilities, he had been determined to see this thing all the way through. Even after Barbara had lost her ability to walk. Even after Two-face had removed his mask and recognized him.

It felt like he was leaving behind unfinished business.

And that sucked so hard.

The outfit that had been generously provided by Batman was now retired, its resting place in the shipping container that the Batclan stored its equipment in. There was no doubt in the teen's mind that he would ever wear it again. And to think he had been thinking about making some changes to it, upgrading it and all.

Fuck.

Dick was going to be alone out there, wasn't he? No one to watch his back anymore. Barbara could only do so much as Oracle, and having an extra body watching your back improved your chances out there like nothing else. If only he hadn't been caught off guard or captured like a n00b.

At least with his identity secured, he'd have more reason to try and talk his parents out of the move. Or figure out a way for him to stay. Either way, though, neither was an option and it would be best both for them and him to get out of here.

At least he wouldn't be leaving while Two-face was still on the loose. Barbara had informed him of what went down thanks to the earpiece that he typically wore when dressed as Robin. He still had it too, and he figured he'd keep it. It didn't hurt to have a secure means of communication with his friends, right? Right.

Still, he wished he could have been there. Taking down both Two-face and Black Mask, fighting it out at the old Gotham Cathedral and later Arkham Asylum? An epic showdown for the fate of the city for which they had all bled, sweat, and cried for? Goddamn it all.

Almost losing his grip on his box, Tim was reminded he was in the middle of moving, so get your butt into gear. Grumbling to himself, he made his way downstairs, taking a moment to place the heavy-ass box down near a stack of them so that he could let his arms rest a bit.

There were so many boxes around, another reminder that this was all really happening. You know, now that he thought about it, he had absolutely no idea where they were going. He was sure either his dad or mom told him at some point, but it went over his head at the time.

Hearing movement in the kitchen, he called out, "Hey, where are we moving again?"

Movement stopped. "Can't answer right now!" his mother's voice responded. "The brochure's on the coffee table!"

Real helpful there. Scanning around, he managed to find the coffee table surrounded by more boxes, and hey, what do you know, there was a brochure on it. Some other papers were scattered too, and somebody was going to have to clean that up. Not him, he had to pack up his own room thank you very much.

Making his way over and picking the small pamphlet it, he looked over it, searching for a name and eventually finding it. That's where they were heading? Well, at least it wasn't some small town in the midwest. The teen would handle a move like this with all the grace of a long-suffering adolescent, but he would be damned if he had to go to Nowheresville in, he didn't know, Kansas or wherever.

Who knows, maybe Jump City wouldn't be so bad a place to live.

* * *

Author's Note: And with that, _Three Sides of Fate_ is officially over. Now for what you guys have been waiting for: what comes next. Well, ShadowMajin and I are going to try an experiment. What that means is you get not one, but _two_ stories at about the same time. The first one going to a Justice League fic called _Fallen Olympus_ , which you will be able to find on ShadowMajin account. The other is going to a Teen Titans story called _Of Earth and Sky_ , which you'll be able to find on my, Anonymous Void, account. What, thought we were done with Tim Drake? Not by a long shot. We started setting up the Teen Titans story back in _Ten Houses of Deceit_ , and _Three Sides of Fate_ is what is finishing the set up. One other note is that _Fallen Olympus_ will be posted first by about a week or so, so don't get too worried if you don't see _Of Earth and Sky_ immediately. Both are coming out. See you guys later.


End file.
